A Pigeon by Any Other Name...

My recent journey to Pittsburgh gave me the opportunity to visit the National Arboretum. This was perhaps at my family's own peril as this was dangerously close to Heinz Field, home of the Pittsburgh Steelers and even in the morning there were throngs of Steelers fans, ticket scalpers and memorabilia vendors that had gathered for the evening's festivities.

I love the Aviary. It is set up in a manner that allows the birds to move around freely in much of the display. In many cases the birds will roam into the walkways where the visitors move through the aviary. It allows the visitor a unique opportunity to encounter the birds' behaviors up close.

The birds in these photographs are pigeons. Very exotic pigeons with fancy head feathers, long legs and bright colors, but pigeons nonetheless. Known as Crowned Pigeons or Gouras, they reside in New Guinea and are close to the size of turkeys. Normal American pigeons are more prone to run away and fly off when threatened, but these birds will lie down and play dead. I had the opportunity to observe this behavior several times while on my visit there. There were two pigeons on an elevated walkway that ran over their display who, despite the constant disturbance by humans, refused to yield their ground. They would stand there displaying their beautiful plumage and whenever someone would come just a bit too close would lie down and "play dead". Sort of like a possum, except less annoying and less likely to get run over by a car in the rainforests of New Guinea.

On the job with the boss looking- human world.

On the job with the boss looking - pigeon world.

Now do you not wish that when your boss (or whomever else) was getting on your nerves, that you could just lie down and play dead as a means of defense?

It's Playoff Time

I have been swallowed by a sea of black and gold. It is a bit of a drive to Pittsburgh but this is definitely Steele rs country. Since the playoffs are going on, that fervor is driven to new heights.

Last weekends game was quite the nasty one. Steelers fans really HATE the Ravens so that game was a nasty one as expected. The upcoming game against the Jets does not carry the same kind of animosity, if only because the dislike of New England around here is so intense that anybody that can pull off an upset against them, especially in a playoff game, must be okay. Personally, I do not care. I do not like the Ravens only for the reason that they used to be the Browns and abandoned Cleveland. I am okay with the Jets because they took on Boomer Esiason when Cincinnati realized that they sucked and did not deserve him. Otherwise, I am not that rabid of a fan. I guess I will root for the Steelers.

So who do should I root for? Well I am from Ohio (state motto: During the Presidential Primaries we are actually relevant), which you may have guessed from my defense of Cleveland. Actually I am from Cincinnati and have grown up with the long, proud tradition of hating Cleveland- aka- the mistake on the lake, the armpit of the midwest, etc. Despite that, it is in Ohio and you do not betray fellow Ohioans like that. I did at one point support the Bengals when they played professional football. I am not sure what they play now, but it does not look like professional football to me. Professional teams do things like score touchdowns and defend their quarterback and have defensive lines. The Bengals have not incorporated these elements into their game since 1989 when Boomer Esiason was quarterback and they went to the Superbowl. Cleveland is out as a team I could root for since they are the rival team of the Bungals (take that Mike Brown!) The Browns have not been the same since being re founded so pretty much both Ohio teams are out.

Prior to living here, I lived near Indianapolis and that was where I found a real football team- the Colts. They had the advantage of both being a good team, and they had Peyton Manning who played for University of Tennessee where I had been a student briefly. He was a cool dude to boot. Besides, Indianapolis was a lot like Cincinnati, except much hipper and larger. So I became a sworn Colts fan. Whenever there is playoff game that the Steelers are in, the hospital allows staff to wear team colors of the involved teams. I am sure to show up in white and blue, even if they are not playing against the Steelers. Sure, I look like a douche bag, but if you cannot look like a douche bag amongst trusted friends and colleagues, who can you look like a douche bag in front of?

This weekend, I just so happen to be spending in Pittsburgh, which I am probably going to regret considering there is going to be a playoff game on Sunday and the city is going to be a zoo, but I planned this weekend first and am holding firm. It does not matter that a winter storm just dropped 5-6 inches of snow in the city and the high temperature is running below 20 degrees. The fans are going to come to the game. And I am going to be rooting for the Colts. Except when a Steelers fan is watching. They are not so forgiving about the lack of allegiance in the city proper. With that in mind...

Go Steelers (unless the Jets win)!

The Forecast

There have been plenty of stories about newer legal drugs floating around that kids have been getting into so they can subvert the system. K2 and Salvia are the ones I have heard the most about, but I am sure there are more. Like Ecstasy, it will only be matter of time before they are outlawed but a lot of people are going to be harmed before that happens.


The newest one I have heard of around here is called Blizzard. It is apparently a no more than a bath salt that has fallen into favor in the drug crowds. For the time, it is legal and can be bought at large chains that sell bath products. For their benefit, I will not mention any names. As the form Blizzard which is very finely ground and packaged in small jars labeled as such, this is probably more likely found in head shops, but it is not hard to get a mortar and pestle to grind up the legitimate version if one does not have access to such an establishment. I would have never heard of it either, but word of this sort of thing worked its way to me via my patients, like so many other tidbits of information. The recent story on the death of a Blizzard IV drug user has increased its notoriety since then. I have been told that some states have become more aware of this becoming a problem and are making steps to ban the product. Much like Ecstasy, K2 and Salvia, these compounds will have their heyday before being recognized and regulated. The compound is not harmless and more people are sure to die from use of this product.


While it is not funny, do you not just want to say "are you completely stupid, or just mostly stupid?" when you hear that someone shot up their veins with BATH SALTS? Still I wonder since it is a cleansing type product is the user less likely to get an infection than, say a heroin user? At least they will smell spring fresh.


Of course there was the bath salts as a drug discussion that came up at lunchtime the first time that Blizzard was introduced to the psychiatric unit here. How is it used? Are there different scents? It is not that our lunchtime discussions do not reach the lowest common denominator of poor taste to begin with, but since this is likely to hit the teenage set out of its sheer accessibility, we pondered if were likely to be used the way high school students use to get drunk during school- the vodka enema. Useful if one can squeeze really tight for a long time. Unfortunately, this form of alcohol delivery has been implicated in a good number of cases of alcohol poisoning. Nonetheless, it is easier than trying to sneak a bottle of vodka into school so the practice continues. Would not a bath salt enema be a great way to pull off a buzz, avoid track marks and leave one's colon smelling fresh? They might even expand the practice into one of those colonic type spas where one could choose the size of the buzz- flurries, light accumulation, a clipper or the full blown blizzard.


So that was the main topic of discussion during lunch in the conference room yesterday- bath salt enemas. I do not wish to make light of the tragic loss of a young person's life, but if people are stupid enough to do something as stupid as shoot up bath salts, we are going to joke. Our jobs are stressful enough that we need a break sometime.

They kind of look like Devil horns don't they? on Twitpic

They kind of look like Devil horns don't they? on Twitpic

They kind of look like Devil horns don't they? on Twitpic

They kind of look like Devil horns don't they? on Twitpic

The Drive Home

"Why are you driving so slowly?"


One thing was for certain, that F150 could manage the snow at a lot faster velocity than it was if it was a 4X4, and if it was not, it should have been. No one with half a brain in this area would buy a rear wheel drive vehicle if there were a four wheel drive version available.


It was not as if the road conditions were bad, not yet, at least out here. The city streets were warmer and have already started to slush up from the city heat and the endless barrage of cars rushing home to beat the oncoming storm. Once outside the city was a different picture. The streets were cooler and the rush of cars home had not peaked yet so the roads were still covered only with a fine powder of snow. Unfortunately, the only road home lasts for several miles and is a single lane road over a mountain. One slow vehicle can slow up traffic for quite a distance. And that was exactly what that F150 was doing at the front of the line. The uphill climb is always worse in this situation with angry drivers if only because there are more cars heading in the same direction. As the line moves along, the group slowly diureses off as cars reach their various turn off points. I am not worried about stopping in time if needed, but I am driving in auto shift mode just in case. Still I can only manage to get the car in third gear and get any reasonable semblance of power. The speed limit is 45 mph.


At the apex of the climb is several turn offs to the "it" subdivisions and most of the cars turn off leaving me virtually alone with Mr F150. The downhill speed limit is 55 mph and he seemed to only muster up the guts to go 35 mph. The last cars in the line turn off and it was just the two of us now. My drive home is my refuge from the hustle of the day and I have calmed down by the bottom of the hill. I will maintain that satellite radio is one of mankind's greatest inventions as it is virtually impossible to go without finding something I want to hear. Once I get tired of flipping channels, I usually pick out exactly what I want on my Ipod which is hooked into my sound system. The one song stuck in my head that day, and play it on repeat. It is my car, I can do as I please.

Once found, the song in my mind was playing, and I was in a state of Zen calm. I have grown fascinated with the swirls of snow that dance behind the tire tracks made by the truck ahead of me. He somehow seems destined to be my lead car on the entire trip home as he makes all the same turns that I do. The entire time the snow swills in an endless pattern behind the tires of the pickup. They twist and writhe in an endless array of figures that much like a snowflake itself, never repeats. The lines they create move as if they were choreographed to move with the song on the sound system. I can understand the lyrics of the song, but I do not pay them any mind. The river that runs to the right of me is starting to ice over from the cold but do not even notice it's progress. I am still forced to drive too slowly if I am to keep a safe distance from my nervous companion but at this point, do not care. The only time I glance away from the road ahead of me is to check the gap between the rocks on the left where the deer are known to dart out unannounced, otherwise, it is back to the swirls of snow.


I finally turn into my subdivision and leave the F150 to nervously work his way to wherever he is going. Coming out of the subdivision is a Jaguar with a Union Jack on the front plate holder. Another driver whose car was quite likely ill prepared to face the oncoming storm. Another rear wheel drive car on the road. Do they even get this kind of snow in Brittan? But I am almost home now and it is not my worry. Just up one hill and a few poorly laid turns before turning up the last hill to home. By now the snow is starting to build up on the road, and the gentle wisps are slowly being swallowed up by more heavy accumulation. I could have managed the building inclement weather but I am home now and ready to enjoy the evening.

A few minutes after arriving home, the salt truck came up the road with its plow and load of salt and gravel to treat the road before the oncoming storm fully flexes its muscles. They are predicting 4-6 inches, more than we have had so far this entire winter.

The Best Memories

I set my toast on fire this morning. Who cares, right? Not many would, really, but it my circle, it is something worth bragging about. Hey, guess what stupid thing I did this morning! Funny, huh? Anything for a laugh. It makes for a great pick up line in a bar. Sort of like "Hey, I'm a rock star and drive a Ferrari" but instead I can say "Hey, I'm a dork and I set a piece of toast on fire this morning."

I am not writing this to tell you about my culinary misadventures. It was to talk about memories. That incident brought back one of those memories that I will probably remember all my life. We all have a few, some important, like our wedding day, the day our child was born, etc. Some stupid like the day that "someone" put Ben Gay in Uncle Bob's underwear drawer and he ran out of church grabbing his crotch and screaming in agony just as the sermon was starting. I never did that to my Uncle Bob, no really, it is just an example, but you get the idea.

My "Smoke on the Toaster" incident brought back an old college memory out of the dusty old attic of memories and brought me a smile. A roommate of mine in college was more interested in reading the newspaper one day than paying attention to her breakfast. When I walked into the kitchen, her Pop Tart was in the toaster and on fire. "Jen (not her real name) your Pop Tart is on fire." She just brushed it off without a glance. The flames spread and the room started filling up with smoke. "Jen, your Pop Tart is on fire!" This time she looked to see the flames shooting out of the top of the toaster and rescued the remains of the Pop Tart. Word of advise: if a toaster is on sale for $.25 at a yard sale, there is a reason.

Some memories are notable enough to stay with us forever. This one was based on the humor of the situation. One of my favorites carries a significant amount of importance to me for far more profound reasons.

A few years ago we had gone on vacation to Ocean City, MD. We were told by numerous people that this was the beach to go to and heard long stories about how wonderful it was. Unfortunately our experience was far from what we were promised. It was crowded, overrun with teenagers and young adults looking for a party, and lined by rows and rows of tacky high rises that spoil the ambient beauty of the shoreline. We did have fun on the vacation, but it was not the kind of beach that we would return to in the future.

Despite our disappointment in the beach itself, it did leave me with one of those memories that I will never forget. We had a very nice condo with a balcony overlooking the beach. One very nice evening we had just come in from swimming and my husband stripped off my son's swim trunks and hung them out to dry. My son had been running around on the porch with nothing but a towel on. I just sat on a lounge chair to enjoy the evening and dry off. It had been sunny all day and the temperature was still pleasant. The ocean breeze was just perfect. He was scanning the road for signs of the ice cream truck and I was watching on the horizon for dolphins. Age certainly makes for different ideas about what is an exciting siting.

After some time, I wondered if he may have grown tired of sitting wrapped in nothing but a towel and asked if he wanted to do something else.


"Do you want to go take a bath?"
"No."


"Do you want to get dressed and walk on the beach?"
"No."


"How about go look for the ice cream truck?"
"No."


"What do you want to do?"
"Just sit here on Mommy's lap."


And so we sat there, watching the ocean and listening to the waves crash against the shore. That memory will stay with me forever. I can still hear the sea gulls calling out and smell the salt in the air when I think back to that day. I never felt more at peace than I did at that moment. I never felt more important either.