Catch Up

Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffin' blog.

Or writing in this thing for that matter. A lot has happened recently, I haven't written a damn thing lately, yada yada. We've all seen this before. So I'll skip the lamenting over of the how or the why of letting this blog fall into the disarray of idleness (or at least I'll pretend to skip over that part while in reality drawing more attention to it), and simply move on with the catch up, catch all, come back post. Here we go.

Bermuda

-Gwen and I went to George and Cristin's wedding in Bermuda several weeks ago and had a pretty fine time. The island, the company, the setting, the reception, the booze, everything was solid. I had never been to the Carribbean before, and as it turns out, I still have never been to the Carribbean, because Bermuda is located in the Atlantic (you idiot), at roughly the same latitude as North Carolina. Did I know that before this trip? Of course not. Public school geography at its finest, of course.

-We arrived in Bermuda to the tropical atmosphere and when in a place like that its very easy to simply relax. Collars, muscle fibers, and attitudes all loosen - there's something in the air and smiles simply come more easily. What a great place.

-The accent of the dark-skinned locals was odd. Some sort of cross between Jamiacan or Carribbean and British. We had a friendly and uber-chatty taxi driver over to the hotel, and in that 30 minutes I learned more about Bermuda (and that accent) than I did in the rest of my time there.

-Within 20 minutes of landing I started singing the Bermuda part of the song "Cocomo" by the Beach Boys every five minutes, a behavior which I repeated for 72 staight hours while awake, (That seemed to taper off the last couple days of the Bermuda trip - it turns out you CAN sing a song too much) driving everyone insane in the process.

-George and Cristin had organized a golf scramble the day before the wedding, and so on the Friday before the big day I found myself staring 18 holes of golf square in the face for the first time in over four years. I had even't swung a club since Iraq (where one night we hit old driving range balls - which we had dunked in the translucent green fluid of broken chem lights - over the FOB wall one night for no good reason while smoking cigars), and I knew after trying a few practice chips that things could ugly quick.

The good news was that Pete and I shared a cart and were in the same foursome. Pete, much like my old roommate John "Boy" Clemenns, has what I would call the ideal golf temperament. He's impossible to anger - or even frustrate - and this proved to ease the tensions of the entire group of four of us, none of whom were very good. But we had a blast all the same. The course with its hills and ocean vistas was absolutely beautiful as expected, and even though one of the guys paired up with us was an Eagles fan, things still went pretty well. (Only three fist fights)

The other good thing was that this was a par-3, 18-hole course, which was a great way to "welcome" myself back into the game of golf. The first time I ever played golf was during the end of my third-year of med school. My friends Cameron, Jamie, Alexi, and I went out and had ourselves a time. That day was fantastic because my expectations were so low and when a good shot did come up, even better. And as I recall, we all ended up getting sauced and having a world-beating burger (best cheeseburger I've ever had) at a place called "Port of Call" in New Orleans later on to cap off the experience. It was a phenomenal day. And then I got addicted to the damn game.

During my fourth year of medical school I started playing more and more golf. Thanks to Papa Stup, I was equipped with some good clubs and all the proper equipment. I never had lessons, but I just played and played over again, trying to improve along the way. Something happened though, and though I did improve, my progress slowed and that 'slowing' led to dire frustrations. Next thing I knew I was leaving the golf course more stressed and frustrated then when I entered it, and as a result I made a clean break with the game going into residency knowing that my psyche couldn't handle the concept of spending my precious few hours off being even more frustrated and stressed than while at work. And so I stopped golfing.

Fast forward to Bermuda, where my expectations had once again lowered to almost nothing. I ended up having a great time that day, though I didn't play particularly well (my short game was a wreck - which doesn't help much on a par 3 course). After losing three balls on three consecutive holes, I simmered down and things went fairly smoothly. I even got a birdie and a few pars before the day was through. Plus Pete and I got buzzed if not more than buzzed and I recall vividly one time driving the rented cart from one beautiful hole to the next, staring out at the ocean, sipping on a cold beer, turing to Pete and saying, "Pete, I've had worse days in my life." And he agreed.

He and I talked about possibly golfing in Germany, which is supposed to have nice courses, and it might happen. If so, I'm sure I'll have fun for a while, then try and get serious about it, then get pissed when I'm playing consistently and yet not playing as good as Tiger Woods, then I'll probably start throwing clubs and then know its time give it up again. But for now, I'm back in the good stages of having golf as a hobby.

-Other phenomenal things about the Bermuda trip were the obvious. Basically the wedding and party and of course seeing a bunch of old residency peeps again. Good times.

Houston

On Sunday Gwen and I travled back to Texas - where everying is bigger - to celebrate my sister's graduation from college. Unfortunately our luggage was lost while on the way back (we got it the next day), but otherwise our travels went smoothly.

That night, at a party for my sister, I had a serious worlds-colliding experience (probably not unlike a much smaller version of what most people experience when they get married) bringing Gwen into a party which had my family, including extended family, the neighborhood friends, Eryn, and even my old college roommate Eric Hurtado (E-Hurt). After many hours of traveling, it was initially a little overwhelming (easily fixed with a few beers) but regardless turned out to be a pretty good experience.

Eryn stayed with us a few days in Houston. As it always, it was great to see him, and the trip included laughing at old pictures of me (high school varsity jacket pictures with wicked high school pseudo-tude are the best) and riveting games of head-to-head PSP action. Eryn destroyed me in most of these (especially tennis). It turns out he's pretty good at video games.

Gwen, Eryn, my sister and I went on a rain-soaked bike ride around my parent's neighborhood, and all of that ended up in a rousing game of Marco Polo in the pool. Yes, we are all college educated adults.

On the Tuesday, my parents rewarded Eryn for all his years of loyal friendship to me by granting him the chance (opportunity, really) to drive three hours and help my sister move from Waco to Dallas. Yes, he obtained the honor of being involved in a move which was helmed by none other than the legendary Papa Stup. It only cost him about 130 dollars (to change his plane ticket), a small price as compared to the infinite spiritutual reward of having things like the "balance point "explained at length and being around a U-haul with a dead battery in the 90 degree heat which could have potentially caused him to miss his flight.

Now its no secret that my San Diego friends are held in low regard for their moving abilities by my dad. A single incident of Iwan "not paying attention" some time after college cost them all infinite credibility in the area. But I like to think that Eryn made up for this with his uncanny ability to secure things to the inside of the truck with rope. His technique was so solid that it caught Papa Stup's all-seeing eye and Eryn was asked to repeat his rope-wizardry several times. Kudos, friend. Kudos, indeed.

In all seriousness, we appreciate Eryn's help that day, and as always it was great to see him and hang out, even if he did miss seeing the spot in Dallas where Kennedy got shot which we drove to not an hour after dropping him off at the airport.


Since the Trip

Since we've gotten back, things have been busy again. Landstuhl is on level TEN all the time these days thanks to this little operation we have continuing in the middle east. I was on call the whole holiday weekend, and it seems like the summer will only get busier as casualties rise and providers leave the hospital to go to other duty stations. More to follow on this, but it looks I'm in for a busy summer of work up here.

Gwen and I did manage to throw a little BBQ yesterday (Monday) for Memorial Day. Gwen bought a grill and though the weather didn't cooperate it stopped raining long enough for us to grill some meat and enjoy some good company. Gwen is quite the hostess when she tries - I was impressed by her ability to arrange all the things so well for the party, despite being on call all weekend.

And now - some pics. I'll try and stay more caught up on this thing in the future.




My Ernie Els-esque swing...








Three beers in...





Pete and I continue our World Tour of this pose - this time with Pete in full Bermuda Shorts






Looking Stylish...




And Again...







"Bermuda, Bahamas, Come on Pretty Mamma..."





Team Madigan






This one sort of stands on its own...