Lack of blogging motivation

So I've kind of been out of ideas for writing lately, and for that I apologize to anyone who still regularly checks in. I've been running away from school for the past two weekends since my renal path exam and the rest of my free time is being eaten up by a stupid group project.

I'm not quite sure why as a 24 year old medical student I'm still assigned group work. Honestly, I am quite capable of working with a group to complete an assignment as well as doing it independently. I think that group science report that I did in elementary school proved that skill set. But here I am again, trying to coordinate 7 other classmates to create a paper that will live up to the nit-picky expectations of the course director. I've realized that I naturally gravitate to these types of positions where I take on the burden of getting a group of people to pull in the same direction, and usually I do ok with them. Hopefully, we can get a decent grade out of this project for all of us, I've certainly done my share. Especially with rewriting the sections assigned to the the one member of the group that struggles to write a coherent paragraph. I figured the 5 non-native english speakers would be the dead weight in the writing department, but they actually write quite well...it was one of the two native speakers that gave me trouble...figures.
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So I got out to my favorite spot on earth this afternoon again: Fenway Park.

There's just something about the hustle and bustle around the ball park that makes me feel invigorated. Once I'm through the ticket gates, I like to immediately descend from the overly comercialized and family friendly Yawkey Way into the dimly bowels of the stadium that has stood there, almost unchanged since 1912. It almost feels like I'm traveling back in time amidst the smokey aroma of sausage on the grill and the white noise of 37,000 people vibrating through the concrete structure. Each descent brings back floods of memories of dozens of visits before, all rushing back at once. It's similar to what I imagine seeing your life flash before your eyes is like, but you can do it whenever you like for the price of admission. There's the usual, comfortable ritual of procuring the correct overpriced mass produced American lager for my dad in appreciation for the tickets he preennially provides, of walking down the ramp past the same souvenir vendor that's always there with the same old overpriced stuff, past the nacho/pretzel and hot dog/sausage, Papa Gino's, Beer/Peanut and Ice cream stands (yes, in that exact order). Waving to the same beer guy that's always there with some clever remark while he happily pours his brews in the corner by the entrance up to our section. It's a ritual that always feels familiar and yet always exciting and new...like nothing else I've ever experienced. If you've been to Fenway and sat on the third base side of the stadium, you probably know what I mean...it's the least renovated portion of the ball park and instead of feeling like a dump, which is what I'm sure many people would think, it feels like I'm walking back into an earlier time where nothing else matters except for enjoying the home team playing the classic american game.

For me, the real magic begins as soon as I emerge from the musty underbelly of the beast into the light and fresh air and echoing sounds of the park. I like to look up at the skyline over the right field wall and scan the outfield and just take a few seconds to absorb the atmosphere, and it instantly takes me back to the first few times that I visited the stadium back in the 80's and sat on my dad's lap and ate cotton candy and watched Wade Boggs (one of my favorite childhood players) play his heart out at third base and be the RBI machine that he was. It's a great feeling. The world could be collapsing around me (as it indeed it often seems to be these days), but I wouldn't really care if I had my butt in one of those cramped old seats. It really is a special place for me and holds hundreds of amazing memories that make me feel at peace and at home.

It's quite a stark and welcome contrast to my other life in New York, where I constantly feel out of place and like something is looming over me waiting to rend my soul to it's very roots. I wish I could better express what it is that I feel in words, but it's one of those intangibles that just nags at the periphery of my consciousness. Like when you walk into a room and absolutely know that something is out of place but you're not even sure what it is or why you have that feeling, but it's there nonetheless. I guess that I just don't feel at home there in NY and it adversely affects everything I do and weighs me down. I guess that strikes at the heart of the reason that I started writing this blog in the first place...to get over that feeling of living in a place that I will never be comfortable enough to call home.

I've come to realize over the past two years that discomfort is the place where I have to learn to be comfortable through many experiences (see "Notes from the Vagina"). However, making that leap from conceptualization to actualization is more difficult than it appears on the surface.

So that's a little bit about where I'm coming from in my life at this point, and it only took 3 overpriced, mass produced American lagers at my favorite place on earth to bring it out...hopefully I'll have something less touchy-feely to write about next time, but here's where my flow of consciousness went tonight.

Peace out girl scout...

SOX WIN

Obligatory post...sorry. I love this piscture of Pap...

Overall, this year was probably the best years of baseball that I can remember, but the World Series was kind of bittersweet. Do I miss Shaugnessy's Curse of the Bambino? NO! But there is something missing in my soul...it's that potent longing that only a lifetime of being a lovable loser can bring. 86 years of disappointment no longer tug at my heart strings. Billy Buckner letting the ball through his legs in the '86 series doesn't make me quite as angry. Falling to the Tribe in '95 and '98 and losing to the Yanks in '99 are just distant memories from my adolescence. The heartbreak of the 2003 game 7, 11th inning ALCS loss that forged my love of the Sox no longer makes the bile rise in my throat. 2004 put all of those things to rest. The fatalist Sox fan is gone from my soul.

There was no elation this year for me, just satisfaction and a lot of hope for the next few years. With the young core of players that have come up through the farm system, a passionate owner that cares about his fans and team, competent management at the helm and another red banner hanging over Yawkee Way for me to look up at, I am satisfied.

I'm not an angry person by nature, but...

Blowing a 7-2 lead in the top of the 8th....with two of the best relief pitchers of 2007.

I COULD HEAR MY OWN PULSE. I WAS CURSING, I WAS THROWING STUFF, I WAS CALLING MY COLLEGE FRIENDS TO SCREAM INTO THE PHONE, I WOULD CALL MY FATHER TO MAKE SURE HE'S ALIVE IF HE WEREN'T OUT OF THE COUNTRY WITH MY MOM FOR THEIR ANNIVERSARY.

Oh well...it's just a game. I'm going to get so much crap on Monday

::shakes his lowered head in disgust and anticipation of the 100 or so yanks fans consoling him as he walks into class on Monday::

Maybe the three other Sox fans will have a support group meeting Sunday night to discuss methods of anger management and self-defense.

Instead of cursing here, I'll hearken back a few weeks to one of my favorite anecdotal encounters that defines medical school for me:

I'm in the Micro department office picking up my course packet, I greet the secretary very graciously as I would any other day. From behind me I hear the distinct Brooklyn accent of my course director:

Course Director: ...how dare he wear that David Ortiz t-shirt into my department office...

Great...here we go again...be nice, he's a faculty member and ultimately will be placing your grade onto your transcript. Don't look too weak either, because then he'll know that you're kissing ass. Deep breath, and turn...

Me: Good morning Dr. X
Course Director: Good morning. Why are you wearing that around my office? What's your Name?
Me: My name's Bostonian. I'm from Boston so like half my wardrobe consists of 'these things'. Really though, I'm wearing a Dominican Republic shirt. Who could hate David Ortiz...he's such a happy person and the most clutch hitter of all time!!!

until this season...stupid torn meniscus...

Course Director: Well I have to agree with you there...

YES!!!!!!!! BOSTONIAN: 1, DR. X: 0

Course Director: I can understand where you're coming from. Actually my son is a Sox fan, he grew up one just to spite me. My first faculty position was in MA and he spent his formitive years watching the Sox. We watched Fiske wishing that home run fair in '86, and...

All I heard at that point was seagulls. --OK, so I was imitating Fiske waving his hit fair past Peske's Pole. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, I'm flailing arms like a moron in front of my Micro course director in the middle of the department office, several secretaries/faculty members stare in disgust and confusion. If I weren't 3 years old at that time it would be probably one of the single best moments of my entire life. Hell, even as it is, I've seen the highlight played at least 500 times, and I sit there every time holding my breath watching that hit bend fair by about 10 inches from the foul pole. Composing myself...

Me: I'm sorry for your loss. Do you still speak to your son?
Course Director: Occasionally. You must have been nervous after the Yanks swept you last week, eh?
Me: Not really, considering that the yanks just dropped 2 of 3 to the D-Rays.

Damn I'm good, BOSTONIAN: 2, DR. X: 0. It is taking every ounce of my self restraint not to throw down the flagrant fist pump of victory in the middle of this guy's office.

Course Director: Alright Mr. Bostonian, have a nice morning.

BOSTONIAN: 0, DR. X: 100...damn it

Me: You too Dr. X

Great...way to alienate yourself from the faculty...ASS

GO SOX....here goes my weekend

I know I'm probably asking for trouble by posting this...but 5.5 games up on the Yanks, 11 games to clinch the AL East and I'm nervous. I'm nervous because the Sox have had anemic offense all of August, and it just started waking up against TAMPA BAY. I'm nervous because the Yanks swept us in 3 last time. I'm nervous because I will again be venturing out into NYC tonight wearing Sox paraphernalia just to remind every New Yorkers that I see that there's a game on tonight and it's deciding the AL east. Hopefully the offense will show up tonight too!

AHEAD on Robbins reading, behind in everything else, and probably going to stay that way today...

Boston discount...

As most of you probably know by now, I'm a Bostonian stuck in my own little slice of hell known as New York for the next 3 or so years...(PLEASE UMASS TAKE ME FOR RESIDENCY!!!!!!!!!) From time to time (3-4 days a week) I'll make the unforgivable folly of wearing one of my Red Sox shirts out into public which usually unleashes a tirade of steaming vitriolic hatred upon me from the locals. Latest episode happened today:

Walking into school to print something out. A crowd of the big wigs is walking by including the dean of the ENTIRE MEDICAL COLLEGE!
Dean of School: RED SOX? (shakes head in disapproval walking away)
Me: Sorry Dean, I'm from Boston, it's in my blood.
Dean of School: (Mutters something to his colleagues, they all smirk and look at me)
Me: (to self) Great, there goes my dean's letter.

It's around 11 and instead of going to my intro to nutrition class, I'm out with my roomates running some errands. I hadn't had breakfast yet, so I decide to run into a deli to grab a quick sandwich while my roomate is getting gas.

Deli owner: How ya doin'?
Me: Fine, how are you?
Deli owner: (Stoping dead in the midst of stocking the drink refrigerator) YOU KNOW YOU'RE AWFUL BALLSY WEARING THAT RED SOX SHIRT AROUND HERE
Me: Yeah yeah, born into it man...sorry. I'll have a turkey, lettuce and tomato with cheddar.
Deli owner: (GLARING AT ME WITH HATRED) Mayo?
Me: (Beaming back to spite him) Yeah

So I basically stare at the guy for the next few minutes while he's making my sandwich to make sure that I don't get any special sauce

Deli owner's son: HEY DAD, should I give him the Boston Discount?
Me: Very funny...
Deli owner's son: That'll be 50 bucks (register says $7.42)

I even left the guy a tip for the little ray of sunshine he stamped out of my day. The sandwich, by the way, was pretty good!

Despite my being 60 or so pages behind in Robbins reading, there's always a little time to focus on baseball in August...especially when I'm stuck in this hellhole of Yankee-fandom 8 games up going into a 3-game series. Here are a couple stories that have warmed my heart while living here over the past year:

The Old Lady
Time stuck in Yankee Country: 36 Hours, give or take. Location: Bed Bath and Beyond for apartment supplies. I'm walking down the aisle, standing amongst the tea pots because I don't even have the means to boil water in my apartment as of yet, when all of a sudden I hear this angry voice with that accent that makes every hair on my neck bristle, "You know you better be careful around here."

"Why's that ma'am?"

"You're going to get yourself hurt wearing that kind of shirt around here."

Looking down I notice that I'm wearing my Bronson Arroyo shirt that I picked up for $5 after he got traded. I thought to myself -Great...and old lady just threatened to beat me up for wearing a Bronson Arroyo shirt in the middle of BB&B. At that time Arroyo was about 10-2 with an ERA under 3, and the Sox were in their skid, but still up 1.5 games at that point. To make things better, it was still about 3 weeks before the second comming of the Boston Massacre where the Sox dropped a 5 game homestand which essentially was the dagger in their playoff hopes.

Thinking quickly I retorted "Ma'am, I'm from the Boston area and just moved here yesterday. Bronson Arroyo, who isn't even on the Red Sox anymore, is one of my favorite pitchers who is currently leading the NL in wins and ERA. If anyone wants to beat the crap out of me over Arroyo, they need to seriously get a life. Enjoy the rest of your shopping" With that I
turned and walked away.

Random other Sox-hating events
Generally when I go to a bar, I'm still carded at the door despite the fact that I look like a 30 year old at the ripe old age of 24. Most NY bouncers see the Massachusetts license and give me grief about being from Boston/the Sox.

I also have Red Sox license plates. They were doing random safety checks on one of the roads near campus, and so the officer makes me stop and says with a dead-pan, straight face "Son, I may have to write you a ticket for those plates that you have there." I said: "See you in Traffic Court," with a smile, and he cracked a smirk.

In the ED
Patient: So where are you from?
Me: Boston
Patient: So why don't you have one of those stupid accents that they always have? (through her own thick Long Island/Queens accent)
Me: My parents taught me how to speak properly as a child...

Edit: at the time of this post the Sox are only up 7 games on the Yank-me's based upon Damon's 2 Run HR...Run support for Matsuzaka could have been better...especially if Manny hadn't strained his back.