Fearless Embodiment of Seeming Contradictions

It's really purple.

2008-06-27T06:41:00.001-07:00

I don't know why both of my digital cameras make it this blue, but whatever. It's still pretty:)

Purple surprise

2008-06-20T11:54:00.001-07:00

So the boxes continue to grow, and the happy news is that the peppa spray seems to have Rid the Critters for now. Some guys in the Emergency Depaatment were talking about mixing cayenne pepper in with the dirt - I suppose that would have been a much cheaper solution, had I thought of it.
Anyhow, the first box is going crrrazy with the daffodils and dahlias, though the daffodils seem to be at a bit of a standstill for now. Maybe it's the Coriolis effect - they're Peruvian, after all. I also transplanted two crowded cypress vines into the round pot with the lonely convolvulus -- a pot, you'll recall, that was SUPPOSED to be full of dahlias by now. They must be composting neatly at the bottom. At least they'll feed the others.

The second box is a tangle of morning glories and convolvulus, with the anal-retentively-neat cypress vines in the corner keeping their section of the neighborhood tidy.

You can see the Crimson Ramblers rambling all over my railing. Sorry for the nasty boxspring way down there in the background - it is an alley with a dumpster, after all.

And finally, the surprise - I couldn't believe there are already three Star of Yelta flowers on the tiny vinelings. They looked a little dried out - some water spiked with Miracle Gro fixed that, as well as the apparent coming rain.

Moving forward

2008-06-12T16:48:00.000-07:00

So as you can see, things are finally growing. As is usual for a garden, they are neither growing in the quantity nor in the way I planted them, but that's ok.

The first pic shows the Star of Yelta morning glories in the upper left, a dahlia to the far right and a smaller one mid-left, the Peruvian daffodils in the middle, and convolvulus throughout. Those effing passion flower seeds never took. I read on a website somewhere that some shockingly low percentage of those seeds ever sprout. Hmph. The dahlias in the box came up though, which is more than I can say for the round pot, which still houses a lonely convolvulus. I think it will probably be the prettiest one despite being the saddest, and I'll bring it in for gatherings once it's in bloom. Hellz yeah.

The other box pic shows the out-of-control Crimson Rambler morning glories in the upper left (they have been the best looking seedlings from the start; they were actually growing out of the cages and had to be threaded back through after I came back from vacation), the ridiculously fuzzy and adorable cypress vinelings in the upper right, and convolvulus throughout.

A closeup shot of this box shows that yes, even a single day after removing the cages AND spraying down with that Havahart Critter Ridder peppa spray, an MF squirrel still got in there to dig. I re-sprayed the boxes and even some select areas of dirt, hoping that will keep them away.

So there you have it, the fire escape boxes are off and running. Whee!

It's on, b*tches

2008-05-19T14:39:00.000-07:00

So to my great dismay, I discovered multiple times over the past few weeks that some creature or other had been "rearranging the topography" of my gardens. This resulted in loss of more than a few seedlings I had selected (see my "in vitro" internal conflict earlier) both through disruption of rooting and being munched on, and in general frustration on my part. I went to several local hardware places for answers.
I came up with one viable option initially and a host of other ideas. My first thought was to lay a screen over top of the gardens; an effective strategy that might pose a problem when the seedlings got larger, but I figured they would be less tasty to whoever was dining on them and that I could remove the screen at that point. Someone's window screen ended up on my fire escape landing, and I thought about using that, maybe. A scarecrow of sorts was an option. I also considered various chemical means (this is war) but all I could find was some sort of capsaicinoid derivative that was expensive ($20 for a spray bottle!) and of dubious efficacy -- the brand name was "Havahart" and at this point, I didn't. I had put a lot of work into this, dammit.
I finally settled on chicken wire. I bought a roll of the stuff at the Home Depot, and not the octagonal poultry fence kind that some small birds, who I figured were the likely culprits, could shoulder their way through. I got the quarter-inch grid kind, which gave me the added advantage of being easily measurable and moldable into shapes. The resulting apparati have kept my seedlings safe and growing well in full sun ever since. I even fashioned little hairpin-shaped ligatures to keep the edges of the boxes together, and felt not a little like my Grandpa Mike, who was always making creative things out of wood, plexiglas, and metal, that either involved feeding or deterring suburban wildlife, including would-be garage burglars.
Here are some pictures of the results; I think Grandpa Mike would be proud. Oh, that's a victory cosmo in a heavy, stable glass because it's windy.
(Yes, I know the dahlia and Peruvian daffodils haven't shown up yet. I don't know what's keeping them. I'm getting anxious.)

More sprouts

2008-05-08T17:42:00.000-07:00

As you can see nicely in the two photos (taken with the new camera; call me a curmudgeon but I just don't see much of a difference between it and my phonecam except that I have to reduce the hell out of the images in photoshop in order to make them uploadable this century) the seeds continue to do well. AND as if that weren't good news enough, two of them are positively identified as morning glories; each is in the upper left of the photo. That makes (according to the diagrams) the one in the top photo a Star of Yelta and in the bottom a Crimson Rambler. Woot. All the others are convolvuli. The morning glories have already doubled the size of the convolvuli even though this is just the first day they are up, testifying to the weedy, infestive, come-in-your-bed-and-strangle-you-at-night qualities of those plants.

Let there be sprouts

2008-05-06T17:17:00.000-07:00

There were finally sprouts in the fire escape boxes today, like. I thought it would never happen. You can see my glowing finger (my phonecam doesn't handle light in the best fashion) indicating their approximate locations. Unfortunately, from the location of the sprouts within each box, and in comparison to the Fire Escape Box Diagrams (below) it looks as though all the sprouts are convolvuli, the wheche maketh sense, as they're all up at about the same time. I just hope the morning glories (with which I have a stunning history of sound defeat) and other goodies come up.
Oh, and some accursed animal keeps digging holes in the one box. Maybe some of the seeds I planted are tasty. Good thing there were a lot of them. I had a brief internal struggle, in-vitro-fertilization-style, about starting so many little seeds and either not having them grow or "thinning" them later (a gardening euphemism for Roman military decimation). But I got over it when I saw what kind of conditions I'm putting them up against. Go seeds.

Is this thing still on?

2008-04-29T16:18:00.000-07:00

Yay. My blog is still here. No wait. My thing that I post stuff on on the internets.
I hate the word "blog."
Anyhow, the last post down there is a bit desperate and unhappy-sounding, but in the words of Grandma Georgina from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, "Things are going to get much bet-ta'." And they have. I'm still grumpy some days (the grumpiness peaked about mid-February, as is common for interns, and it simmered down to a low-level sniping here and there) but my last day of medicine wards was possibly the most pleasant day of my entire intern year. I finally felt like I knew what I was doing, even if briefly. So naturally, it's time to hang all that up and go do something completely different -- neuro intern year! yay.
So I decided to use this posting-thing for something interesting and useful; Keith and Felicia and I planted a garden in front of her place at 669 Mass Ave, and I planted two huge window boxes outside (well, fire escape boxes, at least). So lets watch them grow!

Here we are starting. That's a lot of rocks. Apparently at some point the plot was a rock garden, or a quarry for the city or something. But we pulled a lot of damn rocks out of there.

Again with the rocks! See Felicia so fervently digging them out? By the way, to make what's in the red and blue coolers to the right, mix: one can Minute Maid (R) lemonade concentrate, 3.5 cans water, 1 1/3 c. vodka, 1/3 c. cointreau, add ice, and shake.

The rock removal service. The dumping ground was either the neighbors', or the dumpster around the corner and in the back of the house row. We chose the dumpster because we're nice. Thanks, Keithy.

About halfway done. So was the lemonade.

Phew! Done. Keith estimated about 15 buckets of rocks to the back dumpster, and I took a few more myself. We actually needed the dirt there because we'd removed so much volume in rock! Then we planted bulbs and seeds, things we hoped would do well in shade most of the day, as the garden is on the west side of Mass Ave. It still looks like it does there in the picture. I hope something grows. As Felicia said, though, "At least the trash is gone."

And now onto my own adventures...

Every good garden starts with one of these. Do I detect a theme?

One of the fire escape boxes. I started by drilling lots of holes in the bottom with my drill (well what would you use?) and pouring some nice marble chips in the bottom for good drainage.

That's a lot of dirt! And I carried it up a million steps to my apartment. And it smelled like poop. I was glad to get it back outside where it belongs.

Those are dahlias on the ends ("star's favorite") and Peruvian daffodils in the middle. Keith wanted the dahlias because the flowers look like sea anemones, and I chose the daffodils because they're unusual.

Voila! And in the top I planted seeds for convolvulus and passion flower (pass iflora caerulea); the morning glory seeds are scarified and soaking tonight (you have to break the seed coat or they won't grow), and will be planted in the morning.

Here are the fire escape boxes in situ. The one on the left is just outside my window, and it's the one with the bulbs. Loads of railing will provide support for the morning glories and the passion flower, I hope. The round pot has extra dahlias.
On the right is another one I planted, a bit farther from my window, that right now only has convolvulus in it. When the seeds are ready, Star of Yelta morning glories will go into the box on the left, and Crimson Rambler morning glories into the box on the right along with cypress vine.

So I'll post again when something of significance grows.

Okay, so I've been a little busy.

2007-08-26T22:10:00.000-07:00

So yeah. Two months of internship down, and I'll be lucky not to end up working for a pharmaceutical company with the attitude I've taken. But somehow I can't put my finger on what I hate. I did my first month at BMC, then a month at the VA (ugh), and now I'm back going across the street to go to work. I like the facility. I really like the people I work with. It would be no understatement to say I love my patients. Why, then, do I hate what I do?
I get up every morning with - heck, I even go to bed with - a christlike sort of optimism about the kind of job I'm going to do the next day, how I'm going to improve and learn...and every day I get beaten down and find myself at the end of the day trying desperately just to get out of there and go home. Some days I go home and call people, angrily telling them how I'm going to quit (thanks for being patient with all that venom, people I call). What do I hate so much? I'll have to think about that... Karl Jung said, "Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves." Perhaps I should figure out what irritates me so much about my job.
It might easily be the lack of control of my schedule. I can't "take a day off." I get one day off per week, more or less randomly assigned, each set for the next year. I've had problems with that sort of thing before.
I've pretty much wanted to quit everything I've started that was hard, with a few exceptions. I wanted to come home after the first day of college classes. I didn't want to start medical school (maybe I should have taken the hint? I don't know.) I didn't want to come back to medical school. The only thing I jumped into avidly was graduate school. The part that worries me is that all those times I wanted to quit only lasted a short while. Maybe it's that this experience is different, but I've sort of been having those thoughts for 2 months now. I googled pharmaceutical jobs yesterday. Maybe having an out helps me feel my situation is not so bad? I don't know.

But enough rambling. I've gotten to do some pretty great things and I've made some pretty great friends. That pic over there is in the Old State House; I was lucky enough to make it to three early music concerts there over the last month. For the first one I was post-call and slept through about half, but I'd rather hear five minutes of that music than none at all.
Maybe I'll update this more often. Who knows, it might help. In the meantime I'll just go back to work every day. A pretty wise friend once said that every morning I should just put both feet on the floor and start going, because "some days, that's what success looks like." I worry though, that that kind of automatism can lead to long-term, low-grade unhappiness the likes of which could ruin my generally sunny attitude about life.

I still feel like I'm on vacation here every day. There are too many things to see, and thankfully instead of being bitter that I can't see them all, I am happy my free time is generally full of wonderful things.

Ice cream love

2007-05-21T21:09:00.000-07:00

So one of the nicest things to happen to me in my last several months in Columbus was becoming friends with Stan, the owner of Denise's Ice Cream here in Columbus. A Boston native (where he also had ice cream shops), Stan is always "telling me how it is" in my future city, laughing at my newbie experiences there, and asking to be packed in my moving truck. I've spent Sundays for the past 5 months or so at Denise's, at first hanging out and reading the paper, and later moving up to actually helping out and being useful (but always eating ice cream and sucking down coffee as though it were...free?)

All this of course is only possible because of Kevin, who appears with me above and in my Youtube debut making waffle cones here. Naturally, I'm going to miss him and all of this to the point of tears, but spending every Sunday with Kevin and Stan just relaxing and disguised as an ice cream shop employee has done more than I can say to help with the stress of matching to a residency program, looking for a new place to live, and dealing with leaving people I love.

I think I'll always want experiences like this in my life - alter-ego-type situations and radically different skill sets. I think that will keep me in love with my day job.

I miss you Kevin. :(

Someday you'll sing it out loud...

2007-05-19T14:29:00.000-07:00

Grumble. I guess now since I have a blog I actually have to write on it occasionally. I refuse to use the word "blog" as a verb. So I'm writing. On my blog. Thing.

So I'm moving to Boston in just a short time and no, I haven't started packing, everyone stop asking please, thank you. I also don't have "too much shit" as everyone who comes over likes to say. I'm good at getting rid of things. It's like a line from the movie "Croupier" I've always kept with me - "Hang on tightly, let go lightly." Good policy, I say.

So I have a place to live and stuff, and it's right by the hospital where I'm going to work. It's also the cheapest and arguably the nicest place I looked at, so there's really very little for me to complain about. That's the building up there, and you can see the big ol' BMC in the back just a stone's throw (or knife's throw, or gunshot, *gulp*) away.

So I still have no idea how this is all going to work. Supposedly the plan so far is that my dad and I drive a truck and my car all the way out there, and he can take my car back to Cleveland because I don't think I want it. Naturally I've left out the part about removing all my items from the truck and carrying them up 3 flights, because that's painful and I don't want to think about it. It's one of those won't-believe-it-till-I-see-it things. The other part is I hate having to ask friends to help me move. HATE it. I like helping other people but I don't like asking for it. And I've helped pack lots of trucks for friends, so I guess I'm due, but still. I've already received a generous offer of help once I reach Boston, though, and that gives me some comfort.

So yes, everyone wants to know how excited I am and how wonderful it is that I'm moving to such a great place. But all I can see right now is unhappiness -- the unpleasantness of packing, loading a truck to drive for 12 hours, saying goodbye, and leaning on my aging father yet again wondering what I did to deserve someone so great.

Fine.

2007-05-10T14:55:00.000-07:00

You all win. I hate blogs, but here's mine. I'm going to be moving soon, and I'm terrified, but excited, but terrified, but....well, you get the point. This is already sounding so cheesy, so "bloggerish," that it makes me want to hang the whole idea up and forget I ever had it.

I don't even know how to use this thing. I'm reminded of my dad, whom I overheard one day saying "I was fine with DOS, but then everything moved to icons. I can't get icons. They just don't make any sense." So yeah, dad, I feel ya.

Why am I doing this? Because like most of you out there, to some extent I'm an attention whore. I'm hoping someone (cute?) will read this and be all, "awww." Also, I've just had a cosmopolitan on an empty stomach and am feeling that, too.

Basically, here's the stuff. I'm graduating my program with an M.D. and a Ph.D. in synthetic and biological organic chemistry. I'm learning from a professional who's very patient and wonderful how to be proud of that. And I'm looking at a 12-hour drive to transport all my worldly items to a large, foreign city where I'll try not to be too naive, but still remain myself enough to bring it a bit of the midwestern friendliness and urbane kindness to which I've been lucky enough to be accustomed all my life. They say, "When in Rome, do like the Romans do." I say, "Be proud of who you are and ease in gently."

Oh yeah, and what to call me. I sign these posts "Dr. Matt" even though that's been entirely ruined by people like ""Dr. Phil"" (double quotes there, haha). I chose that because when I started my PhD, there were an Awful Lot of People Named Matt in the department, and because I was an MD/PhD, one particularly wonderful friend took to calling me "doctor matt" to distinguish me from the others. It stuck.