After a busy four or so days in Utah, where I saw my Uncle Scott's Medical School Commencement -- three hours of pure torture that I would not have endured for anyone but my Uncle Scott. I've already put my twin brother on notice that if he ever does actually make it into medical school, much less all the way through it (which is highly dubious to say the least), he should not count on me to be present at his commencement ceremony. I'll bake cupcakes and attend the after-party, but as for the commencement ceremony itself, Billy Joel would have to be performing live before I'd even consider attending, and chances are that Billy Joel will no longer be around when or if my brother graduates from medical school.
I already wrote about the Utah prom, so I won't belabor the point except to say that I found it almost rolling-on-the-floor hilarious that they served us the basic equivalent of Happy Meals minus the toys that typically accompany Happy Meals. Can you even imagine such a thing? The suburbs in which I have lived were not exactly the equivalent to Beverly Hills or Newport, Rhode Island, but Happy Meals at a prom? How can the Utah Prom Committee possibly top this year's offerings next year?
Life is pretty much as it was at the funny farm before I left. I'll be here until Thursday evening. I have a track competition on Friday and a diving meet on Saturday. Both are considered "State" competitions, which means that competition will be stiff. I can't expect to place terribky highly, but I'd like to maintain and/or improve on my times and scores.
My track coach told me I'm the only athlete in recent history at our school to represent the school at two different State competitions in a single season. Of course, since these are considered "minor" sports, the distinction won't result in any sort of formal recognition, but it's still nice to know.
Dr. Jeff is recommending the "Guinness" plan to my parents. He has slightly modified the plan I came up with on my own during my mom's St. Patricks' Day party where she encouraged everyone to help themselves to beer and didn't in any way indicate the invitation was not open to me as well. His adaptation is that I drink four ounces of Guinness, eat a huge bowl of ice cream, drink four more ounces, then brush my teeth and go to sleep immediately. My dad is more than happy to keep the last four ounces of Guinness from going to waste. Oddly enough to some, my hurdling times improved after the St. Paddy's Day experiment; Dr. Jeff's version actually improved my times even more. He says it's a combination of high-quality sleep and a little extra nutrition beyond what I would normally take in. The bonus is that it's legal because it's on a prescription pad of a licesnsed physician.
I need to come up with something to liven up the humdrum existence of the psych ward. It hurt me to be so brutally honest with my fellow lunatics, but I told them that for a pack of truly insane people, we're awfully boring and need to do something about it. Hopefully by morning someone will have come up with an idea. It usually falls upon me, so I suppose I'll have to be the one to think of something this time as well. Maybe we should have a Utah-style prom in the psych ward, complete with modest clothing that covers us from head to toe (perhaps we should even wear burkas) and Happy Meals (with or without toys) for the entree. We can't afford a live band, but we can use someone's computer to play hackneyed music from the 90's. Hopefully I or someone else will come up with something more original before morning.