For some time many of us have wondered just who is Jack Schitt?
We find ourselves at a loss when someone says, 'You don't know Jack Schitt!' Well, thanks to my genealogy efforts, you can now respond in an intellectual way.
Jack Schitt is the only son of Awe Schitt. Awe Schitt, the
fertilizer magnate, married O. Schitt, the owner of Needeep N.
Schitt, Inc. They had one son, Jack.
In turn, Jack Schitt married Noe Schitt. The deeply religious couple
produced six children: Holie Schitt, Giva Schitt, Fulla Schitt, Bull
Schitt, and the twins Deep Schitt and Dip Schitt.
Against her parents' objections, Deep Schitt married Dumb Schitt, a
high school dropout. After being married 15 years, Jack and Noe Schitt divorced. Noe Schitt later married Ted Sherlock, and because her kids were living with them, she wanted to keep her previous name. S he was then known as Noe Schitt Sherlock.
Meanwhile, Dip Schitt married Loda Schitt, and they produced a son
with a rather nervous disposition named Chicken Schitt. Two of the
other six children, Fulla Schitt and Giva Schitt, were inseparable
throughout childhood and subsequently married the Happens brothers in a dual ceremony. The wedding announcement in the newspaper announced the Schitt-Happens nuptials. The Schitt-Happens children were Dawg, Byrd, and Horse.
Bull Schitt, the prodigal son, left home to tour the world. He recently returned from Italy with his new Italian bride, Pisa Schitt.
Now when someone says, 'You don't know Jack Schitt,' you can correct them.
Sincerely,
Crock O. Schitt
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Brainsuckers
Thursday, Nov. 08, 2007
When the Patient Is a Googler
By Scott Haig
We had never met, but as we talked on the phone I knew she was Googling me. The way she drew out her conjunctions, just a little, that was the tip off — stalling for time as new pages loaded. It was barely audible, but the soft click-click of the keyboard in the background confirmed it. Oh, well, it's the information age. Normally, she'd have to go through my staff first, but I gave her an appointment.
Susan was well spoken and in good shape, an attractive woman in her mid-40s. She had brought her three-year-old to my office, but was ignoring the little monster as he ripped up magazines, threw fish crackers and Cheerios, and stomped them into my rug. I tried to ignore him too, which was hard as he dribbled chocolate milk from his sippy cup all over my upholstered chairs. Eventually his screeching made conversation impossible.
"This is not an acceptable form of behavior, not acceptable at all," was Susan's excruciatingly well-enunciated and perfunctory response to Junior's screaming. The toddler's defiant delight signaled that he understood just enough to ignore her back. Meanwhile, Mom launched into me with a barrage of excruciatingly well-informed questions. I soon felt like throwing Cheerios at her too.
Susan had chosen me because she had researched my education, read a paper I had written, determined my university affiliation and knew where I lived. It was a little too much — as if she knew how stinky and snorey I was last Sunday morning. Yes, she was simply researching important aspects of her own health care. Yes, who your surgeon is certainly affects what your surgeon does. But I was unnerved by how she brandished her information, too personal and just too rude on our first meeting.
Every doctor knows patients like this. They're called "brainsuckers." By the time they come in, they've visited many other docs already — somehow unable to stick with any of them. They have many complaints, which rarely translate to hard findings on any objective tests. They talk a lot. I often wonder, while waiting for them to pause, if there are patients like this in poor, war-torn countries where the need for doctors is more dire.
Susan got me thinking about patients. Nurses are my favorites — they know our language and they're used to putting their trust in doctors. And they laugh at my jokes. But engineers, as a class, are possibly the best patients. They're logical and they're accustomed to the concept of consultation — they're interested in how the doctor thinks about their problem. They know how to use experts. If your orthopedist thinks about arthritis, for instance, in terms of friction between roughened joint surfaces, you should try to think about it, generally, in the same way. There is little use coming to him or her for help if you insist your arthritis is due to an imbalance between yin and yang, an interruption of some imaginary force field or a dietary deficiency of molybdenum. There's so much information (as well as misinformation) in medicine — and, yes, a lot of it can be Googled — that one major responsibility of an expert is to know what to ignore.
Susan had neither the trust of a nurse nor the teachability of an engineer. She would ignore no theory of any culture or any quack, regarding her very common brand of knee pain. On and on she went as I retreated further within. I marveled, sitting there silenced by her diatribe. Hers was such a fully orbed and vigorous self-concern that it possessed virtue in its own right. Her complete and utter selfishness was nearly a thing of beauty.
When to punt is not a topic taught in medical school. There is but one observation that I can offer: Patients like Susan, as self-absorbed as they are, know it immediately. They can tell when you're about to punt.
I knew full well what was wrong with this woman, and I could treat her, probably as well as anyone. But treating her condition, which was chronic patellofemoral pain, would test the mettle of patient and surgeon. What we have doesn't work very well nor very quickly. The swelling takes months to go down, the muscles take even longer to strengthen. Good patients often complain, "It was better before we started," in desperation or anger, before they see improvement. But with plenty of therapy, braces, exercises and one or two operations, this knee does improve. It's often tough going, though, and patients have to stick with you. I like to be straight — "It gets worse before it gets better" is what I tell them. Susan's style, her history and, somehow, most telling, the way she treated her son said she was not going to make it through this. Not with me, anyway.
A seasoned doc gets good at sizing up what kind of patient he's got and how to adjust his communicative style accordingly. Some patients are non-compliant Bozos who won't read anything longer than a headline. They don't want to know what's wrong with them, they don't know what medicines they're taking, they don't even seem to care what kind of operation you're planning to do on them. "Just get me better, doc," is all they say.
At the other end of our spectrum are patients like Susan: They're often suspicious and distrustful, their pressured sentences burst with misused, mispronounced words and half-baked ideas. Unfortunately, both types of patients get sick with roughly the same frequency.
I knew Susan was a Googler — queen, perhaps, of all Googlers. But I couldn't dance with this one. I couldn't even get a word in edgewise. So, I cut her off. I punted. I told her there was nothing I could do differently than her last three orthopedists, but I could refer her to another who might be able to help. A certain Dr. Brown, whom I'd known as a resident, had been particularly interested in her type of knee problem.
Disappointed and annoyed, Susan stopped for a beat.
"You mean Larry Brown on Central Avenue?"
"Uh, yes —" I started.
"I have an appointment with him on Friday. And, Dr. Haig?" she said, pulling Junior by the arm out my office door, "Watch out on your drive home tonight. There was an accident near your exit."
Dr. Scott Haig is an Assistant Clinical Professor of Orthopedic Surgery at Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons. He has a private practice in the New York City area.
When the Patient Is a Googler
By Scott Haig
We had never met, but as we talked on the phone I knew she was Googling me. The way she drew out her conjunctions, just a little, that was the tip off — stalling for time as new pages loaded. It was barely audible, but the soft click-click of the keyboard in the background confirmed it. Oh, well, it's the information age. Normally, she'd have to go through my staff first, but I gave her an appointment.
Susan was well spoken and in good shape, an attractive woman in her mid-40s. She had brought her three-year-old to my office, but was ignoring the little monster as he ripped up magazines, threw fish crackers and Cheerios, and stomped them into my rug. I tried to ignore him too, which was hard as he dribbled chocolate milk from his sippy cup all over my upholstered chairs. Eventually his screeching made conversation impossible.
"This is not an acceptable form of behavior, not acceptable at all," was Susan's excruciatingly well-enunciated and perfunctory response to Junior's screaming. The toddler's defiant delight signaled that he understood just enough to ignore her back. Meanwhile, Mom launched into me with a barrage of excruciatingly well-informed questions. I soon felt like throwing Cheerios at her too.
Susan had chosen me because she had researched my education, read a paper I had written, determined my university affiliation and knew where I lived. It was a little too much — as if she knew how stinky and snorey I was last Sunday morning. Yes, she was simply researching important aspects of her own health care. Yes, who your surgeon is certainly affects what your surgeon does. But I was unnerved by how she brandished her information, too personal and just too rude on our first meeting.
Every doctor knows patients like this. They're called "brainsuckers." By the time they come in, they've visited many other docs already — somehow unable to stick with any of them. They have many complaints, which rarely translate to hard findings on any objective tests. They talk a lot. I often wonder, while waiting for them to pause, if there are patients like this in poor, war-torn countries where the need for doctors is more dire.
Susan got me thinking about patients. Nurses are my favorites — they know our language and they're used to putting their trust in doctors. And they laugh at my jokes. But engineers, as a class, are possibly the best patients. They're logical and they're accustomed to the concept of consultation — they're interested in how the doctor thinks about their problem. They know how to use experts. If your orthopedist thinks about arthritis, for instance, in terms of friction between roughened joint surfaces, you should try to think about it, generally, in the same way. There is little use coming to him or her for help if you insist your arthritis is due to an imbalance between yin and yang, an interruption of some imaginary force field or a dietary deficiency of molybdenum. There's so much information (as well as misinformation) in medicine — and, yes, a lot of it can be Googled — that one major responsibility of an expert is to know what to ignore.
Susan had neither the trust of a nurse nor the teachability of an engineer. She would ignore no theory of any culture or any quack, regarding her very common brand of knee pain. On and on she went as I retreated further within. I marveled, sitting there silenced by her diatribe. Hers was such a fully orbed and vigorous self-concern that it possessed virtue in its own right. Her complete and utter selfishness was nearly a thing of beauty.
When to punt is not a topic taught in medical school. There is but one observation that I can offer: Patients like Susan, as self-absorbed as they are, know it immediately. They can tell when you're about to punt.
I knew full well what was wrong with this woman, and I could treat her, probably as well as anyone. But treating her condition, which was chronic patellofemoral pain, would test the mettle of patient and surgeon. What we have doesn't work very well nor very quickly. The swelling takes months to go down, the muscles take even longer to strengthen. Good patients often complain, "It was better before we started," in desperation or anger, before they see improvement. But with plenty of therapy, braces, exercises and one or two operations, this knee does improve. It's often tough going, though, and patients have to stick with you. I like to be straight — "It gets worse before it gets better" is what I tell them. Susan's style, her history and, somehow, most telling, the way she treated her son said she was not going to make it through this. Not with me, anyway.
A seasoned doc gets good at sizing up what kind of patient he's got and how to adjust his communicative style accordingly. Some patients are non-compliant Bozos who won't read anything longer than a headline. They don't want to know what's wrong with them, they don't know what medicines they're taking, they don't even seem to care what kind of operation you're planning to do on them. "Just get me better, doc," is all they say.
At the other end of our spectrum are patients like Susan: They're often suspicious and distrustful, their pressured sentences burst with misused, mispronounced words and half-baked ideas. Unfortunately, both types of patients get sick with roughly the same frequency.
I knew Susan was a Googler — queen, perhaps, of all Googlers. But I couldn't dance with this one. I couldn't even get a word in edgewise. So, I cut her off. I punted. I told her there was nothing I could do differently than her last three orthopedists, but I could refer her to another who might be able to help. A certain Dr. Brown, whom I'd known as a resident, had been particularly interested in her type of knee problem.
Disappointed and annoyed, Susan stopped for a beat.
"You mean Larry Brown on Central Avenue?"
"Uh, yes —" I started.
"I have an appointment with him on Friday. And, Dr. Haig?" she said, pulling Junior by the arm out my office door, "Watch out on your drive home tonight. There was an accident near your exit."
Dr. Scott Haig is an Assistant Clinical Professor of Orthopedic Surgery at Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons. He has a private practice in the New York City area.
Monday, November 19, 2007
My Night in Atlantic City...
Away from the lights and commotion, I walked alone on the boardwalk on this cold November night, my mind raced parallel to every roar of the ocean's wave. As they got bigger coming towards me, blurring the delicate reflection of the moon, I noticed that with every break of the wave in the midnight sky I found myself getting more and more
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Mexican boy allegedly abused by teacher could return to U.S. - CNN.com
http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/11/11/teacher.student.search.ap/index.html
Although laws for refugees to seek salvation have been in existence for a while, when cases like this get sensationalized by the media, it is just going to lead to BICE getting inundated with people claiming that they were victims of sexual abuse in order to stay in the country. Which Mexican Women hasn't had her bootie grabbed by her stickler employer who overworks her for a measly $4 bucks an hour and she can't do anything because she has three hungry mouths to feed at home...
sigh... once again we are restrained in the ugly whorl of life that is created by our own society to instill good and demolish bad in order to better ourselves but we just end up making things more difficult... The more we do, the more we complicate our system... For the people who want to live more primitively and just want to fish, hunt, make love and sleep by a fire... the Clipperton Island looks quite enticing!
heheheheeee... What a great place for a birthday party? ;-)
Although laws for refugees to seek salvation have been in existence for a while, when cases like this get sensationalized by the media, it is just going to lead to BICE getting inundated with people claiming that they were victims of sexual abuse in order to stay in the country. Which Mexican Women hasn't had her bootie grabbed by her stickler employer who overworks her for a measly $4 bucks an hour and she can't do anything because she has three hungry mouths to feed at home...
sigh... once again we are restrained in the ugly whorl of life that is created by our own society to instill good and demolish bad in order to better ourselves but we just end up making things more difficult... The more we do, the more we complicate our system... For the people who want to live more primitively and just want to fish, hunt, make love and sleep by a fire... the Clipperton Island looks quite enticing!
heheheheeee... What a great place for a birthday party? ;-)
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Happy Dhanteras Birthday To Me...!
I was born on Dhanteras about a quarter of a century ago (sounds so young, doesn't it?) ;-) It was the happiest day of my mum's life apparently! It was a very auspicious day; not just because of my birth! ;-) Of course my mum's side of the family was overjoyed with the news of the first-born grandchild but it was also an auspicious day for many more! The Hindu mythological stories fascinate me so I thought I'd share them here...
"Dhanteras, sometimes called as Dhantrayodashi falls on the thirteenth day of the month of Ashwin. 'Dhan' in Hindi means wealth. This day is specially devoted to worship Goddess Lakshmi. While the preparations for Diwali celebrations are on their full swing, Dhanteras appends a new dimension to it. This year, Dhanteras will be observed on 7th November.There is a very interesting story that backs this Hindu festival. The son of King Hema was doomed to die as soon as he completes his sixteenth year. The king and queen wanted their son to enjoy all goodness of life and therefor he got him married. The fourth day of his marriage was that dreadful day.
His wife didn't let him sleep and placed around him lots of gold & silver coins. The entry gate was also jammed with the same. Moreover big lamps were lightened all around the palace. She kept telling her husband various stories and sung songs so as to keep him awakened. As Yama, the God of death came, in the guise of a serpent, he couldn't enter the room of the Prince as his eyes were bedazzled by the flash of gold and silver. Yama had to turn back to his world. This way the girl saved her husband's life.
Because of the above told story, the day is also called 'Yamadeepdaan'. Lamps are kept burning throughout the night in the honor of Yama. Another amazing legendary story associated with Dhanteras is that of 'Samudra Manthan'. When Lord Indra along with a team of demons churned the sea to nullify the curse of Sage Durvasa, Goddess Lakshmi emerged from the sea.
The rituals of Dhanteras incorporates elements of both the stories. On the one hand, people invite Goddess of Wealth, Lakshmi to their houses (symbolically) with different kinds of rituals. All the houses are beautified with lights and colors. Specially the entrance is decorated with torans on the doors and Rangoli on the floor. Dhanteras is also considered a very auspicious day to buy gold, silver and household items, especially, utensils. The natives of Maharashtra follow a very unique custom. They mix dry coriander leaves with jaggery and offer it as Naivedya. With the kind of fervor Hindus show for Dhanteras, it certainly sets a mood for the celebrations of the festival of Diwali."
http://www.diwaliutsav.com/dhanteras.html
"Dhanteras, sometimes called as Dhantrayodashi falls on the thirteenth day of the month of Ashwin. 'Dhan' in Hindi means wealth. This day is specially devoted to worship Goddess Lakshmi. While the preparations for Diwali celebrations are on their full swing, Dhanteras appends a new dimension to it. This year, Dhanteras will be observed on 7th November.There is a very interesting story that backs this Hindu festival. The son of King Hema was doomed to die as soon as he completes his sixteenth year. The king and queen wanted their son to enjoy all goodness of life and therefor he got him married. The fourth day of his marriage was that dreadful day.
His wife didn't let him sleep and placed around him lots of gold & silver coins. The entry gate was also jammed with the same. Moreover big lamps were lightened all around the palace. She kept telling her husband various stories and sung songs so as to keep him awakened. As Yama, the God of death came, in the guise of a serpent, he couldn't enter the room of the Prince as his eyes were bedazzled by the flash of gold and silver. Yama had to turn back to his world. This way the girl saved her husband's life.
Because of the above told story, the day is also called 'Yamadeepdaan'. Lamps are kept burning throughout the night in the honor of Yama. Another amazing legendary story associated with Dhanteras is that of 'Samudra Manthan'. When Lord Indra along with a team of demons churned the sea to nullify the curse of Sage Durvasa, Goddess Lakshmi emerged from the sea.
The rituals of Dhanteras incorporates elements of both the stories. On the one hand, people invite Goddess of Wealth, Lakshmi to their houses (symbolically) with different kinds of rituals. All the houses are beautified with lights and colors. Specially the entrance is decorated with torans on the doors and Rangoli on the floor. Dhanteras is also considered a very auspicious day to buy gold, silver and household items, especially, utensils. The natives of Maharashtra follow a very unique custom. They mix dry coriander leaves with jaggery and offer it as Naivedya. With the kind of fervor Hindus show for Dhanteras, it certainly sets a mood for the celebrations of the festival of Diwali."
http://www.diwaliutsav.com/dhanteras.html
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