Logicgui.com

Pharmacy residency candidates rock my socks. I have the greatest respect for them. I think very highly of them. And quite honestly, I am extremely envious of them. They have what I don’t: motivation, commitment, and in a year, a kick-ass work schedule in a stress-free environment.

Unlike 95% of the graduates in their class who sold their soul to the retail devils, these academically-gifted PharmD’s turn down a 6-figure income for a measly $50,000 salary, only so they can dig deeper into their profession. Instead of being the Medicare/Medicaid experts, they choose to be the drug experts and work side-by-side with doctors who actually rely on them for pertinent drug information.

Sure they may have to stay up a few nights, blubber through a few presentations, feel incompetent a few times. But it beats being threatened by drug addicts, bitched at by post-menopausal psychotic mood swingers, and condemned by ugly fat women who are convinced that their high copay is actually your fault.

So clinical pharmacists and residency candidates, continue doing what you’re doing. You go right ahead and tell how dumb the doctor is when he orders metformin for a kidney failure patient. You feel free to look in the eyes of those drug-illiterate MD’s and tell them why it’s not a good idea to discharge a patient with a history of arrhythmia on methadone.

In retrospect, I was residency bound for a short period. Even bought my ticket to midyear. Had I not gotten this kick-ass job with this kick-ass employer, who knows where I’d be now. I may still pursue residency in the distant future. But for now, I’m happy right where I am.

As the best man, I was asked to design the menu for the reception. I gladly accepted and after a few hours of photoshopping, this is what I came up with. Hopefully I’ll be able to post up some portraits of the happy couple after the wedding.

It hasn’t snowed here in the deep South for a few decades. So it was quite a sight to wake up to a blanket of “white flying stuff” on a cold winter’s morn. As every good mom would, my sister-in-law dragged little Francis out of his comfy bed to play in the white wonderland. The poor little fella fell back asleep, on the snow.

On the other side of the river, another kid was snatched out of his bed.

Everybody has a Katrina story. Fortunately, I was 400 miles north of it. But unfortunately, I spent that time in the OR, having my stomach cut open, doping up on Demerol and morphine, with a catheter shoved up my “copulatory” organ.

I do, however, have a Gustav story.

Monday, September 1, 2008

Lost electricity around 10 am. Woke up to a pool of sweats from no AC. Wind was strongest around 5-7 pm. Our house sustained no damage. Can’t say the same for the neighbors. Some had their front door blew in. Others had their garage door blew out. A few had roof damage. That’s the best you can do Gustav? Cruised around town after 10 pm. City was a ghost town. Total darkness with the wind still howling in the distance.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

No work. No electricity. Bored out of my mind with nothing to do. Tried my smarts at a few puzzles to kill time. Six-letter word for “thin” starting with S? My guess, S K I N N Y. Correct answer, S V E L T E. WTF? I can’t even pronounce the word left alone spelling it. This stupid puzzle was giving me more headache than the scorching heat inside the house.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Received text message to report to work at 8 am. Pharmacy staffed with 4 pharmacists and 6 techs. Got 170 scripts out of the queue. Store opened at 12 pm. Line of people waiting outside wrapped halfway around the store. Madness I tell you, madness. Wal-mart nearby only let 50 people in at a time.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Still no electricity. Traffic lights still out. Bumper-to-bumper on every road. Starting to get fed up with this stupid state. Remind me why I’m staying here again? Oh yeah, family. Got a generator from the sis-in-law’s family. Still hot as hell and bored as fuck.

Friday, September 5, 2008

Still sweating at night and cold showers in the morning. Gotta get outta here. Dallas here I come.

At times, it seems that the only person I can confide in is myself. No one truly understands what I’m going through, and quite frankly I just don’t think they give a damn about it. I can call up a dozen people and share my fears, my shortcomings, my tribulations. But in the end, it is me who has to face those fears. It is me who has to vanquish those shortcomings. It is me who has to endure those tribulations. In the end, I am all alone. Giờ chỉ còn một mình tôi với tôi.

Sometimes, life just beat the crap out of you, and no matter how hard you try, you just can’t seem to get up. The days drag on like eternity. You seem to live just for the sake of living, without any meaning, without any purpose. Your body is tired, your heart heavy. The moment you lie down, you’re frightened by the realism of your nightmares. And when you get up, you’re terrified of the inescapable reality that awaits you. So that at the end of the day, you’re afraid even to live.

That makes 3 for the year. Hudson was 7 lbs 3 oz and 19 inches.

One thing that bugs me when taking indoor pictures is the incandescent lighting that renders everything yellow, as if everybody suddenly turns into Asians. What’s worst is the built-in flash that white-washes out all my subjects. I discovered this weekend that there’s a neat little setting on my camera that adjusts for the incandescent lighting. It’s still not perfect WB, but it beats white-washed Asians (I don’t mean the people, although I hate those too, I mean the lighting and flash effects).

Using camera’s Tungsten Light setting. Somewhat normal WB.

Letting camera select WB automatically. Too yellow.

This is why I hate built-in flash.

For the past 6 years, the first thing I did when relocating to a new residence was cracking open my laptop and scanning for a wireless signal. Don’t lie, you’d do the same. Somehow, I always seemed to find a wi-fi virgin too dumb to secure her connection. It’s “her” because a typical guy can do it with his eyes closed. Go ahead, call me a chauvinist pig. Boy when the “connected” message popped up, I leeched that signal like crazy. Sure I felt bad, but I was too broke to appease my unemployed-student conscience.

But now that I’m starting a job, it’s pay back time. For every megabyte I stole in the past, I’m leaving my network open for a day. That means I’ll WEP Key my connection in the year 2050.

Sometimes a Saturday night is best spent at home, in front of the TV. So I decided to buy some Crown, mix with some Coke, and enjoy the second round of the NBA playoffs at home.

Unfortunately, Wal-mart has put an anti-theft cap on the Crown bottle, and the cashier was too busy yapping to her coworker to notice it. Stupid woman!

After bringing the bottle back and missing the first quarter, I can finally mix my Crown and Coke.

A shot of Crown Royal.

Add the Coke.

Cheers. Go Hornets!