AOL came across my online photo album and must have liked what they saw. So much so, apparently, that they selected one of my photos — one from my Thailand album — to feature on their AOL Pictures homepage. Here is a screenshot I grabbed:
and here is the original photo:
It’s not that they returned, rather I did. For the first time in seven months I wasn’t on call during a Derby Dolls game, so you know I could be found in LA. Roller coaster of a night, however. On the one hand, the San Diego Swarm won in an anticlimactic fashion by squeezing out three points in the final jam to break the tie. On the better hand, I was still able to get this photo taken with the Fight Crew’s Judy Gloom!
Several residents and I took the plunge and went skydiving today. Aboard a tiny Cessna airplane that only fit four, it took us about ten minutes to climb to 10000 feet. Not too strange except that one side of the plane was completely open to the outside. Just as I was getting used to that, it was time to strap in to my guide/instructor. I dutifully followed his instructions (“sit in my lap”) and was strapped very securely to my new butt-buddy’s front side.
Ida was up first. She and her tandem partner sat on the edge for a few seconds as I stared at them wondering what would happen next. Then they fell out, and I panicked (see video for confirmation). It was a very unsettling feeling seeing a friend fall out of the side of a plane. I tried to rush to the ledge in a strange effort to save her, but I was too paralyzed by terror. Immediately I was pushed us to the same spot, and all of a sudden I had my own set of problems to deal with … namely sitting on the edge of an airplane two miles high in the air. Actually, he was sitting on the plane; I was simply hanging off the edge, connected to him only by a few cloth straps.
And then we rolled out. Free fall was unlike any feeling I’ve ever experienced, and it was exhilarating. The video conveys it all, so enough talking and more watching:
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kGk_WlKJteg
Motherfucker, I’m awesome!
The other Amir and I decided to throw a party to celebrate the graduating interventional fellows as well as showcase our combined cooked powers.
After spending many hours preparing 20 limes, 7 chickens, 5 pounds of carne asada, 4 pounds of braised pork, 3 gallons of sangria, and 2 sombreros, this officially became an eat-fest.
Amir y Amir, in uniform.
People crowding around to get the good food.
Some more people:
Overall, a huge success. Crushed it!
After nearly ten years, our crew (which now includes a few wives) met up in its entirety for an awesome reunion in Lake Tahoe. The weekend was filled with eating and drinking, as well as hiking, gambling, sleeping, and playing.
Here we are the first night we arrived, going to town on all the food we bought — two shopping carts full.
Preparing the pepper-infused tequila.
Playing the greatest beach game ever devised, disks and sticks, but more affectionately known as dicks and sticks.
Hiking, getting lost, finding our way again, and then spotting wolves.
Halloween in Tahoe. From left to right: international soccer/football player, Richard Simmons (me), Indian Ninja, medieval knight, police officer.
Great times!
The old man got older this past weekend.
I was lucky enough to have multiple celebrations over the span of a few days. First up was an elegant birthday party with my fellow fellows, awesomely hosted by Anna McDivit:
She even wrote out my name in fancy handwriting:
The next night I flew back home to reunite with my old gang, where we met at Limon (Peruvian restaurant), exchanged gifts (you really don’t want to know what that red and black gift next to me is), and downed a few drinks:
On the day of my birthday, my family and I went to Dosa, one of San Francisco’s best-reviewed Indian restaurants for an amazing lunch:
Looking at these pictures, I’m realizing a few things: 1) I have a shiny head, and 2) I need new clothes!
However … the MOST exciting celebration was provided by Sandi (aka melena/Melena), an awesome New Zealander I met on my recent trip to the bottom of the world. The girl seems to have endless talent, and she sent me this very entertaining video she made. (Note: I only know Sandi; I’ve never met anyone else in the video.)
Till next year …
Your boy is back in Chicago! Unlike the last time I was here, when my goal was to attend the AHA meeting and find the start of historic Route 66, the purpose of my trip this time is threefold, to: (1) attend the annual meeting of the American College of Cardiology (ACC), (2) formally accept my ACC/Merck award, and (3) be awesome. This is Chicago at night:
The moment I arrived I went to Topman, a cool British clothing store that only has stores in New York and Chicago. I have been waiting to buy myself a new suit, and I definitely did that. (Goal 3: check.)
Afterwards I went to a reception by the Merck Foundation that honored us four new awardees. It was a very enjoyable reception, and it was very flattering that they honored us with one. This board listed all current/previous awardees
And here I am:
There were lots of Merck and ACC bigwigs, and here we are with ACC president Jack Lewin.
Then we went to eat at the Publican. The array of lights on the ceiling looked really cool, even though this picture doesn’t do it justice.
Publican was a great gastropub that specializes in foods featuring pig or fish. We ate tasty cioppino, pork belly, and porchetta (not sure what that was, but it sure tasted good.)
The next morning, Sunday, I woke up early to attend the Late Breaking Clinical Trials session. I watched a stimulating talk on the use of rivaroxaban for treating PEs as well as the 2-year outcomes of the PARTNER trial. So stimulating I fell asleep a few times. (Goal 1: check.)
Poster time. The abstract I submitted for this conference is just a teaser of the big news that we’ll unleash in May at Heart Rhythm Society. But here I am with Dr. Narayan, trying to change the world … one rotor at a time.
I snuck away at lunch time to try the deep dish pizza that Chicago is so known for. We ended up at Gino’s East and shared this awesome (and huge) pizza.
And finally, on Monday night, came time for the Convocation Ceremony. This is where we would formally be acknowledged for our award. It was a very grand ceremony in the main tent, where all the current and former ACC leadership were present. Everyone, including us, were dressed up in graduation gowns, and we got to sit on the front stage looking out at the crowd. When the ceremony began, the lights dimmed, weird music played, and someone dressed in funny clothes presented the ACC president with a weird sceptor/rod. It was a little weird initially, but the rest was fine. (Goal 2: check.)
Overall, a great trip.
I ran the OC Half Marathon today with Darius and Mayumi, two friends I met on my Antarctica trip. This was my first half marathon, and I didn’t have a lot of time to train as much as I had hoped, but I lived. A half marathon was a nice distance, and I’ll probably run more of these in the future … although I said that about marathons in 2002, and this run today is my first run since then. This was our group:
Darius and me, with my long sock arms.
Here I am, mid-run. I seem to have a knack at always spotting the camera.
Crossing the finish line!
Here we are with our medals. Our final time was 2:16.
A great run that was followed by an even greater lunch at In ‘n’ Out. See you next year.
I found myself in Boston recently to attend some educational seminars. Although our days were spent being publicly humiliated demonstrating our knowledge of ECG minutiae, nights were spent exploring the city and having fun. On our last day we ended up at the Rattlesnake Bar and Restaurant, a local Mexican-themed restaurant, for dinner and drinks, where on the menu we noticed the ghost chili margarita. Spicy food? Bring it.
First let’s take a step back. What is the ghost chili? It’s this:
If you’re wondering why it looks so hideous, it’s because it is. The ghost chili, officially known as the Bhut Jolokia, has been declared as the world’s hottest chili pepper. It’s about 400x hotter than Tabasco sauce, 125x hotter than a jalapeno, and 3x hotter than a habanero. In fact, the ghost chili’s heat is just shy of pepper spray. Here is how its heat fits in grand scheme of hot things (the Scoville scale):
I’ve actually heard about this ghost chili before. Many a buffalo wing joint features wings covered in ghost chili sauce that are then offered up as part of a challenge, where if you can eat a few of them within a certain time, you win a dumb prize. I’ve watched several youtube videos of people eating them and then going into conniptions, rolling around on the floor gripping their bellies, and then vomiting. I’ve even had a few friends try them. In fact, I even reached out to them in this time of apprehension and asked them for advice. Here are some of their responses:
“Bad move, my friend, bad move.”
“Good luck. I recommend wet wipes for tomorrow.”
OK forget these naysayers. But before we could even order the drink we were forced to sign a waiver. It featured the usual nonsense legalese (is there any other sort?), but also one section that instructed us not to drink the margarita and then touch our face, eyes, or … genitals. Right. Because so many people drink a margarita and then have the urge to molest themselves. Of particular interest to us cardiologists, it then went on to say that consuming the ghost chili pepper could result in dangerous heart disturbances, including failure. Heart failure from eating a chili? I contemplated for a moment that drinking this potion may lead to me to getting a HeartMate II, but I said screw it. Let’s drink this thing:
People, it was like drinking fire. It was war in my mouth. And esophagus. And stomach. (And, for one person in the group, his rectum.) One girl in our group immediately got the hiccups. The moment the liquid touches your tongue it lights your body on fire. My face broke out into a cold sweat. I had to get up and pace for a few minutes as other people were staring at me. Drinking water didn’t work, nor did milk, so I resorted to my tried-and-true trick I learned from a wise person back in the day: a teaspoon of sugar. Unfortunately this was a bar, so just tore open a bunch of sugar packets and poured them in my mouth. The heat settled down soon thereafter, and most of us were back to normal. A stupid part of me wanted to try some more, so I went for round two (and then round three), with each time being worse than the previous one. After all of us took all our sips, the glass was still nearly completely full. We’re pathetic.
It was a crazy experience (and pricey, at $16 for the one drink), but well worth it. Anyway, here’s our group.
Where is the drink? Oh there it is.
Time to get my geek on. It’s the annual scientific sessions of the Heart Rhythm Society (HRS), and this year’s meeting was an exciting and significant one. President Bill Clinton started the meeting off with a bang by delivering the plenary talk. The man was amazing. From his opinions to his deliberate movements (e.g. taking his glasses on/off, hand gestures, etc.) to his comfortable speaking style, he was such a charming public speaker…no surprise since he’s been perfecting his craft for 20 years. In true Clinton style, his talk was interesting, captivating, sometimes long-winded, but never dull.
Here he is during a Q&A session afterwards, where he answered some tough questions with the ease of someone chatting casually with friends.
On to the little people. Here I am standing next to my poster…
…looking sharp. Straight-up gangsta, but with a hint of hipster.
I also gave my talk for the Young Investigator Awards competition, a program where the society recognizes hard work and interesting projects…or something. I was fortunate to have been chosen as one of only six finalists. During the meeting, we each had to give a 20-minute presentation which included some challenging questioning by the judges. The winner was announced the next night.
What do you know…gangster, hipster, and now Young Investigator!
Overall, a great meeting.
I found myself this Friday night at Urge Gastropub — a great restaurant with a fantastic beer list — for their 4th anniversary celebration. As part of their special menu for the night was the “Pucker butt wings.” While their name isn’t very memorable, their effect on your body most definitely is. These wings were covered with a sauce made from the 4 hottest peppers on the planet: the Carolina Reaper, Moruga Scorpion, Trinidad Butch T Scorpion, and the famous Ghost Pepper. With names like those (“Butch T”??) you know Mother Nature ain’t messing around.
In our group of 10, only 3 of us were courageous enough to order them; the rest of the table was much more level-headed. Shortly afterwards our waitress brought us each a waiver to sign. We happily signed it — like a dope I signed it as if I were signing an official hospital document: with date and time — and waited for the plate of wings to arrive.
And soon a plate full of 9 sauce-soaked wings with an extra drizzle of sauce landed in front of us. Here I am at the start, still happy and enjoying life. Note the gloves, which a friend provided and proved to be a very valuable accessory.
Happiness quickly turned to pain…and sadness…and panic. Admittedly the first few wings were tasty, but then the burn sunk in and it was an intense heat like nothing I’ve ever experienced. My tongue and face both felt like they wanted to burst with fire. I kept sticking out my tongue in an attempt to cool it but that was pointless. Sips and gulps of beer didn’t help at all, and neither did getting up and pacing around the room. My eyes started tearing up and my nose started pouring out its own fluid…all of which Sally had to wipe away for me periodically. A quick glance around the room revealed the other two guys were equally suffering.
I was only halfway done and almost ready to to call it quits when I received a blessing: a glass of milk delivered by our waitress. Milk typically hasn’t helped me much in the past with spicy foods, but then again I’ve never tasted spice like this. That cool milk coated and soothed my tongue and was the only thing that allowed me finish off all 9 wings.
A slow and painful ten minutes later the wings were finished but the aftermath was only beginning. My lips and tongue continued to tingle for hours, and soon the rest of my GI tract started churning. Unfortunately — but as expected — 12 hours later the wings took out their biggest revenge on me: basement fire. (And that’s a fire that I couldn’t put out for a full day.) Despite all that, I’m looking forward to participating again next year.
I edited a short (1:30) video of my suffering. Watch, and experience the pain with me.
Welcome!
This is my new platform for chronicling my adventures throughout the world. Stories come from nearby and faraway, sometimes involve adventure, and often focus on culinary escapades. If you’re not careful, you may even learn something here – typically because of my meticulous planning, but sometimes from very poorly-made decisions (I’m looking at you, Greenland).
Enjoy!