The Radioactive Orange Holiday Project

Once upon a time, I built a shelf with my dad.

 

I was sharing a 400 square foot apartment back then, so a nice tall shelf with a tiny little footprint was a great way to get a lot of storage in a small space. My dad's the king of cheap and sturdy design, so the whole thing was only about $30 worth of 2x4's, heavy plywood, and sixteen 4" carriage bolts. The shelf is unbelievably strong. I think it would survive a nuclear holocaust. At the end of time, it'll be this shelf, and cockroaches, and Twinkies (assuming an optimistic outcome for Hostess).

 

The apartment was a really low-rent place with old brown carpet, minimal windows, and dank brown brick walls that occasionally sprouted tufts of mysterious black mold. I figured that staining/varnishing the shelf with the warmest, happiest, nature-loviest color I could find would bring a little sunshine into that dank apartmentcave. 

 

I chose "Fruitwood." Little did I know that "Fruitwood" would be so orange. Like the worst self-tanning mistake of my early adolescence. Like an Ode to Oompa Loompa, rendered in furniture. 

 

For 10 years, "Fruitwood" has been punishing me with its surprising, regrettable orangeness. For 10 years, I've kept that shelf in a dim room because it has a weird radioactive glow in full light. 

 

 

I've wanted to do something about it, but I always seemed to lack the time.
I'm also secretly kind of worried that I lack the style. (I mean this the nicest way possible, but if there's an anti-aesthetic gene, my parents unapologetically have it. Assuming autosomal dominance and Mendelian inheritance, that means I'm basically screwed.) What if I tackled the project and made things go from bad to worse?   ...or orange to worse, in this case. My deepest fear of the project outcome is generally shown here:

 

 Inspired by a blog full of ideas from people with more talent and style than me (Better After), I finally bit the bullet.
 - Home Depot for a quart of Glidden paint in White Muslin, a 1/2" bristle brush, and a 6" roller
 - Blue tarp dropcloth I found at the bottom of my sleeping bag stuff sack. It originally came from a 2-pack of tarps, the other of which was used to make a gigantic kite two summers ago.
 - I free-handed the outline of the branches and leaves then painted everything else white, so the tree itself is still the original Fruitwood peeking through. Fruitwood turns out to be a nice color in small doses.

 

I'm pleased to report the entire project is 100% free of twinkle lights, maribou feathers, pink tinsel, or strategically-placed snowman heads. Therein lies the real victory!

Revenge Against the Restrooms

Confession: I hate unfamiliar showers.
Maybe you've had this happen to you. (Or maybe this doesn't happen to anyone besides me. Maybe I'm just particularly, repeatedly, awkwardly unlucky). You're visiting somewhere (relative, friend, vacation hotel, wherever), and you're all set to take a shower. After you get in the shower, you realize too late that OH MY GOSH THE WATER IS FREEZING COLD AND I DON'T KNOW WHICH DIRECTION TO TURN THE KNOBS AND TO EVEN TRY I'D HAVE TO STAND RIGHT UNDER THE WORST OF THIS SPRAY OF FREEZING WATER AND I'M GOING TO DIE IN HERE AREN'T I?

(My mind thinks in caps lock when it's cold. Also, my mind usually concludes that I'm about to die when it's cold.)

Perhaps my hatred of unfamiliar showers is why I end up taking so many pictures of quirky unfamiliar bathrooms -- it's like making fun of the bathroom itself is my revenge against all the freezing showers that have wronged me. Whatever the reason may be, I sure have a lot of random restroom photos.

1. Ghana, Africa. 
Male urinal. Female urinal. Either way you go, it's really just a funky sandbox behind that wall.

2. A hotel in Washington, DC.  The picture doesn't do justice to the sheer magnitude of this vessel sink. It was more like a mini-tub, just in case you still wanted to swim some laps or bathe a giant Irish Wolfhound while the regular-sized tub was being cleaned.



3. Xetzaltenango, Guatemala. The in-line-water-heater showerhead that threatens electric death every time you contemplate washing your hair.

4. Chicago, IL.  It's a little-known fact that all the priceless artwork from the French master, Claude Monet, are kept in a summer season bathroom along the Chicago River Walk. That's why they need the added security precaution of the chain and padlock.

 

5. Ethiopia, Africa. The toilet in my hotel room wouldn't refill itself after a flush. At first, I'd refill the tank cup by cup from the bathroom sink, then I realized there was a handy tank-refilling spray nozzle right next to the toilet. When I mentioned my method to another person on the trip, they told me that the spray nozzle is actually a portable bidet, for cleaning one's bum. Super awkward.

 6. Somewhere in Oklahoma, OK.  A public service reminder that this hotel would like you to please shower inside the shower. Thank you for your cooperation.

7.  Chicago, IL.  This has to be the most diplomatic, polite, socially correct description I've ever seen of anything in my entire life.

 

 

There be pirates

Have you ever been to one of those murder mystery dinners?

This weekend found me in Rochester, MN, eating a Castaway Island Cheese Ball at such a dinner. My character was Quintus Swelter, the "sinister and vain" cook on the pirate ship Scurvy Knave. My role in the game was to insult the other ship's cook, make the cabin boy's life miserable, and poison people willy-nilly as the urge struck.

Dave's character was Salamanca, the easily-amused valet of a wealthy Spanish don. I believe Dave's role in the game was to make people wonder whether he shaves his chest or not.

As a bonus, I ran back into a really cool girl I knew back in medical school. (Sarah, in the middle of the group here.) She was playing Saucy Nancy, Captain of the pirate ship Fury. Her apparent assignment in the game was to say "Yarrrrgh" a lot, try to lure the crew away from the other ship, and to make faces in pictures that would make people wonder if she'd had a brainstem stroke.

The only trouble with spending an evening in a house full of people pretending to be someone they're not is that at the end of the night you feel like you know everyone but actually don't know them at all. It's a strange feeling.

Entombed in a Cathedral

Emperor Haile Selassie was a beloved leader of Ethiopia from 1930-1974, before and after the Italian occupation. His body is entombed in the Holy Trinity Cathedral of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, which is why I ended up there on a Tuesday evening with 4 other ORBIS volunteers.

 

 

 

 We got there at dusk, but our cab driver persuaded the gate-keepers to let us into the grounds even though it was getting late. Then the gate-keepers persuaded the priest to take us into the cathedral itself. He silently unlocked the massive hardwood doors and let us in.

 

 

We then had a rather creepy, silent, dark, after-hours-esque tour led by the priest, who only turned on a single lightbulb in the entire cavernous chapel, and led us to the tomb without saying a word. 

 

But that wasn't the truly strange part of the experience.

 

At the end, the priest personally walked us to the exit then broke his silence by frankly telling us that he would need a generous tip before he would unlock the doors to release us from the church.

 

Ultimately, we had to give him about $100 to get him to let us out of there.

 

In the future, I'd love to be able to refer to this story as the time I was held hostage in an African cathedral by a sinister clergyman. 



 

All kidding aside, I'm sure there must have been some sort of fundamental misunderstanding on our part. I'm sure he'll put the money toward a good cause.

One miracle at a time

The pictures never do it justice. The words never make it real enough.

During the past two weeks in Ethiopia, I've seen some wonderful life-changing stories play out. I was lucky to work with the pediatric ophthalmologists, so all of the patients were young children with their whole lives ahead of them. It's really gratifying to think how the difference they made for our little patients will carry forward as those children grow up.

The first Monday, I met Zeineb*. She's ridiculously cute. Her mother is a widow who thought that there would never be help available for Zeineb's eyes, and even if it were, she wouldn't be able to afford it.

By the end of the week, Zeineb had eye-muscle surgery to straighten her eyes, and a pair of glasses to help her focus better so that her alignment can stay straight.

On Wednesday, there was Mubarek, the bravest kid I've ever met. Just to come to the ORBIS screening, he and his dad had to walk 2 hours from their village to a neighboring town, then spend a week's wages to ride a bus for 8 hours into Addis Ababa. He has Duane's Syndrome Type 3, which prevents his left eye from moving properly when he tries to look from side-to-side.

We made sure they had a place to stay in the local hospital, and by the next afternoon he had eye-muscle surgery to help both of his eyes line up straight in primary gaze.

The next Monday, I met Fetya, a 2 year old boy who was born with a cataract in the left eye. If congenital cataracts aren't removed in time, the brain never learns to process the visual signals that the eye sends it. Fety had his surgery the next day. I hope the surgery came in time for him to get some of his sight back.

I also met Atiya, who is 6 months old and blind from congenital cataracts in both eyes. The local surgeon plans to use the new methods he learned through ORBIS to help this little guy.

 

The whole thing really makes you realize how lucky we are, doesn't it? I wish there were a way to make things right for every kid in the world.

 

 

(*Pictures and names used with permission)

You'll be glad to know...

You'll be glad to know that it only took a mere 52 hours of air and land travel to finally make it back from Ethiopia! Six hours of that were spent standing in line to re-book a canceled flight out of Germany. An unknown number of hours were spent sleeping on airport benches, like this dude:

 

You'll be glad to know that at a certain airport restaurant, if you want a Ciabatta Bread Ham and Swiss Sandwich it will cost you $7.99, but for some reason if you just order ham and swiss on ciabatta bread it's only $3.99

 

You'll be glad to know that never-before-seen artistic renderings of Mr T's early childhood are for sale in the outdoor markets of Ethiopia.



 

 

You'll be glad to know that the pay-phones in Ethiopia...

 

...are actually time machines.

 You'll be glad to know that if you go to the right bakery in Addis Ababa, you can easily get a cake for your Pirate-themed house party!  Or a cake shaped like a furnace boiler... for your, um, furnace boiler-themed party.

 

You'll be glad to know there's finally an answer to the age-old question of how many people it takes to screw in a lightbulb. Three.

It's always relief to scan over the drink menu...

 

...and find that the restaurant serves Ho Chocolate.

You'll also be glad to know that the iPod 5...

...is a status symbol clothing brand.

And that Pringles exist in Africa, but they're cleverly renamed as "Mister Potato Crisps," and their logo is the sombrero-wearing three-way-illegitimate stepchild of the original Pringles guy and the Super Mario Brothers.

Speaking of food, you'll be glad to know that I've now eaten spaghetti ungracefully on every continent I've ever visited. In this particular pasta mishap, I was starving when lunch arrived but there were no utensils to eat with, so I was using the cardboard lid from the food box as a noodle-scoopy-shovel-thingy. Innovative. And awkward.

 

Perhaps most importantly of all, you'll be glad to know that if you ever need a guy to run down the street carrying 22 mattresses on his head, it's not an impossible dream.

 

Worth the Effort

 

Where the next two weeks will take me:

http://www.orbis.org/Default.aspx?cid=5712&lang=1

Chronologically Confused Oktoberfest Foodies

One of my friends from med school is now in plastic surgery residency in Cincinnati.

While visiting her there this weekend, I experienced my very first Oktoberfest. I agreed to go along to said fest, politely overlooking the fact that it was occurring in September, figuring that if Oktoberfest is good, then the extra-early Septemberfest version of it is probably even better. (...and also because I had it on good authority that there would be an attempt at setting the world record for largest group performing the Chicken Dance en masse.)

While wandering around September/Oktoberfest, we came across a batter-dipped, deep-fried, powdered-sugar-covered peanut butter and jelly sandwich available from one of the food vendors.

While ogling the sandwich with shock and awe, we met three guys who were on the verge of splitting one such sandwich. They let us take these pictures of their gastronomic moment of glory. They did not die. At least not while we were still there to witness it.

We then stumbled upon the Hudepohl Beer Glockenspiel Clock Tower where a phenomenal British announcer was drumming up crowd excitement for the World Bratwurst Eating Championships, in which last year's winner, Joey "Jaws" Chestnut, was about to defend his title against a dude in a lucha libre Mexican wrestling mask. You can't make this stuff up.

Joey ate 32 bratwurst in 10 minutes. Then he ate another 5 bratwurst in 1 minute to seal the championship. In contrast, I've eaten about 5 bratwurst in 31 years.

To quote the announcer, it was "the greatest event in all of recorded gastric history. The Mount Sinai of mastication."

Here's how Joey Jaws felt about his accomplishment:

Here's how we felt while watching his accomplishment:

If you've never watched a grown man ingest 32 brats in 10 minutes, you simply wouldn't understand the mix of mute horror and admiration.

With that in mind:
The next time you're feeling down, truly low, like you've already given all you have to give, dig deep inside yourself and remember that there's always room for 5 more bratwurst.