psychiatry

Thanks to the greatest high school psychology teacher ever, I've always been kind of fascinated with psychiatric disorders and modern psychologists. So, I was kind of excited to hear about Y's psych rotation.

Apparently all I took away from my psychology class was the tragedy of baby monkeys clinging to wire mommies and the fun, harmless vibe of the Hawaiian shirts my teacher wore day after day. I apparently forgot the horrifying nature of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, which we watched in class. All I remembered was a lovable group of psych patients -- one of whom was a large Native American man -- who became great friends and lived happily ever after and got front row tickets to Lakers games.

Well, we watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest the other day, and without my funny teacher and her Hawaiian shirts there to distract me, I realized something: psychiatric patients can be, um, dangerous. So dangerous, in fact, that the medical students are advised not to show the patients their names.

As it turns out, the psych ward is a mildly depressing, potentially dangerous place whose purpose is bigger than merely to provide me with interesting stories. And One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is a disturbing movie. Duly noted.

I'll miss you... roundabout

(We've got one year left in this town before Y graduates and we hit the road. For the next 52ish weeks, I'll be taking you through all the things (big and little) I'll miss about this place)

This roundabout is near my house, and each time I drive around it I feel slightly more European than I did after the last turn I took. Even though 9 out of 10 people take it the wrong way and the most time I've ever spent there has been chasing after lost dogs, it's a nice reminder that I'm almost home -- especially when the roses are in bloom.

my soundtrack

I do this thing on trips, particularly when I'm flying, and particularly when I'm flying alone. I listen to one artist the entire duration, over and over again. Amazingly, I don't get sick of the music. Instead, it becomes the soundtrack to that trip and its memories.

I didn't realize I did this until last month's trip to Phoenix. When I uploaded my pictures, Ellie Goulding's "Lights" album -- the music that kept me sane for 10 hours of flying and a 100 degree walk through downtown -- popped into my head.

{I dedicate those lyrics to the cactus who attacked me}

Suddenly it was clear that I've been doing this as long as I can remember. John Mayer's Room for Squares reminds me of something. It's not a smell, a taste, or a touch, but at the same time it's all of those things. I bought that CD at the Irvine Spectrum in Orange County while visiting my brother and sister in law the day after my high school graduation. To this day, that music is a mixture of excitement and terror at the thought of college, the smell of my brother and sister in law's new house, and the predictability and openness of their cookie cutter desert neighborhood.

Coldplay's Speed of Sound is a cold summer day, running through Hyde Park and just making out the top of the London Eye. It's pride at taking a risk and studying abroad and curiosity at what would thrill me next in that foreign city.

She & Him is my perfect winter -- snowed in at a bookstore (Powell's, no less), and seeing the sky open up and just snow for the first time.

Sara Bareilles's kaleidoscope Heart is the first day of fall, walking along Lake Michigan, orange leaves, pumpkin donuts, best friends and spontaneity.

Even our honeymoon had an unintentional soundtrack, thanks to its proximity to the recent death of a pop icon.

I'm flying to Florida next week and now that I'm conscious of my soundtracking habit, I'll probably ruin it. But I'd like to at least do it to some good music, so any recommendations for the album I put on repeat? I'm thinking the latest Deathcab for Cutie or Adele.

note to self: dogs speak English.

Note to self -- When Ike is sleeping like this:

don't say to him, "Awww, look how cute you are curled up in a little ball!"

He might get the wrong idea.

the matchbook girl...

As a lover (hoarder) of magazines, it's no surprise that I'm falling hard for online magazines. This week I've been spoiled: last night I discovered the gorgeous The Violet and today Matchbook's June issue went live.

I've always been a sucker for surveys. I recall sitting at my parents' computer, age 13, trying to figure out how to answer each item in a chain survey in such a way that would win my crush's affection - in my case the answer was probably don't fill out chain surveys. Each month, Matchbook has someone interesting fill out their fun questionnaire, so in honor of today's release I'm going to take my turn at the questions. Because sometimes I like to think I'm interesting, too. (And because I'm already married so I don't have to worry about winning the affection of any boys.)

Thanks to Jaclyn Day for the questionnaire template, found here.

point, starbucks

The other day it was approximately 1 million degrees outside. We were at Starbucks and Y, a tried and true "regular coffee" kind of guy, saw an advertisement and decided it was just hot enough for a Frappucino.

If you don't get this reference, I don't think we can be friends.

"After all," he said, reading the sign, "a grande is only 140 calories."

The next time we visited Starbucks, he ordered another Frappucino in his standard tall size. He picked it up and frowned. "I feel like my last one was bigger than this one."

Poor, naive Y spent his entire college career preparing for med school while I (an advertising major) a)studied much less and b) gained useful skills that would come in handy in the real world. So I explained why Y's drink appeared to have shrunk.

On our last Starbucks run, he looked at the sign {strategically} placed next to the register which {strategically} only mentioned how many calories were in a grande. Before he could even think about it, he turned to the cashier and asked for what was on his mind: a grande Frappucino. He didn't even realize the words coming out of his mouth. Point, Starbucks.

When I explained this to him, his jaw dropped, like so:

And he exclaimed, "Holy crap, I just got advertised!"

I'll miss you...

This weekend was med school graduation, which means a few things: first of all, it means that several people that I've known for way too long to take seriously are now doctors (i.e. Scary Spice in the 7th grade talent show). It also means that we have almost exactly one year left here.

This countdown elicits something different in everyone who moves around for a spouse's job. Of course for many of us it means HOLYCRAPMYHUSBANDWILLBEADOCTOR (breath) ANDTHAT'SSLIGHTLYWEIRDSLASHKINDOFCOOL. For some med school families it doesn't mean much other than that. They're happy where they are and the med student will confidently apply to the program at their current school and with only slight anxiety, assume that's where they'll stay. For some people it's awful, they'll have to leave a place they've come to love.

Us? Well, we're ecstatic. We hope to end up someplace completely different - a place with snow, mountains, and/or tall buildings... a place where people walk from point A to point B without getting funny looks. Maybe a place where we won't have to explain what "Jewish" is.

As hard as it may be to believe, I don't hate it here. No, it isn't my favorite place in the whole world, but I was never expecting to live in my favorite place in the whole world - a patisserie in Paris, the coast of Ireland, the Met, or Epcot.

all we really need, right?

In an effort to prove this to you (and maybe myself) and to document our last year here, this week I'm going to start featuring a year's worth of things I'll miss. Some will be important, others will be the little things, some will probably be sarcastic. But they will all be here. And for now, they're all home.

{1, 2, 3, 4}