The Culprit Life

Motives

Lately I’ve been pondering my motives for doing certain things. The biggest thing I’ve been thinking over is this next album and perhaps The Culprit Life in general. I started the blog/band with half a thought on the suggestion of a few friends. It wasn’t very serious. I didn’t think it would ever mean so much to me or provide for me such an important way to reflect on nearly everything that has and will transpire in a span of four years. The album is a little different in that I did plan to write a few EPs in med school but I didn’t think they would necessarily be shaped by my experiences in it so directly. All that to say, I’ve realized that I had been thinking in a rather self-centered way about this new album. I’d been thinking it will be something that will prove my worth in a way as an artist, showcase what songwriting ability I have, and provide me a gateway to share my work with more people. But that’s not why I wrote it at all and that’s not why I feel I should record it and ask people to listen to it. If it’s all about me, then I don’t think anyone should take the time to listen to it. The real reason I want to share these next batch of songs so badly has nothing to do with me, and I’ve come to realize lately that it really shouldn’t. It has everything to do with being a voice for people who have no voice. Specifically, medical students. Now that may seem absurd to many of you who’s sympathy is deadened for a group of mostly young people who could possibly be making six figures one day but right now, we’re not making six figures. In fact, most of us are in six figures worth of debt. And a lot of us come from lower-middle income class families. A lot of us were raised just like you. So do we deserve your sympathy? Maybe, maybe not. But I would argue that at least we deserve to be understood properly. At least we deserve a stage from which we can express what life is like inside of this machine. At least we deserve a voice.
Now, others of you (or perhaps the same ones), will think me pompous for proposing that what I’m doing/will do in the future is good enough to be called a voice for people beyond myself. And I will tell you that I was not the first to call myself that nor did I actively plan to become one. Nor am I saying that I’m the best one for the job or that what comes out of me will be brilliant. All I’m saying is that I’ve been put here at a rather peculiar point in my life where there is a decision to be made between doing something out of self-centeredness or out of a spirit of advocacy for those the public rarely hears from. And I am choosing to do the latter, not because I’m a more noble person but because I’ve tried the former already and discovered I can’t live with myself that way.

I’ve been really quite hooked on the full length debut album from Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr. entitled It’s a Corporate World. I can’t think of a finer example of electro-pop that’s come out in the last few years. It’s fun and catchy but never makes you feel guilty for listening to it, kinda like Phoenix. It’s “intelligent” pop music if you will (which is almost an oxymoron in American culture today). I saw these guys last summer in Detroit when they opened up for Sleigh Bells and they were fantastic. This is one of the best debuts I’ve heard in a while. Definitely one of my top 10 favorite albums of the year.

Whatever It Takes

I took my double practice exams today. 400 questions in roughly 9 hours for $120. I did pretty good on the first one (by my standards) and just okay on the second one. But it doesn’t matter. I’m taking it next Friday no matter what.

Right now I feel determined. Full steam ahead.

I feel hallowed out. Like a pumpkin left on the front porch after Halloween. I’m not depressed, in fact I’m the opposite of suicidal: I really want to live. I look out from my window, from my computer screen, and I see people living and I want to be living like them. Instead, I’m immersed in this gelatinous body of stagnation. I’m a pot left outside for weeks that the rain has collected in and now the mosquito larva has begun to fester inside of me. All of the ugly, terrible potential I possess has started to show itself. And I can’t seem to shake it.

I spend all day learning and relearning about the seemingly endless number of ways human beings can die. I think about death when I’m driving, when I’m eating, when I’m cleaning my apartment. I’m reluctant to re-heat leftover rice because of the 57 questions I’ve answered about Bacillus cereus food poisoning. I just throw it out. About six people I know, essentially acquaintances of mine, have died in the past two months. I hear about these deaths and my mind instinctively hones in on the physical processes that lead to them. Secondarily, I think of their families and pray for their comfort. I know that’s backwards but it’s just a sign of what I’ve turned into. I think about what would happen if I died. Would all my unfinished songs ever see the light of day? Would anyone publish anything of mine posthumously? Would they even be able to figure out how I intended my work to be displayed, read, listened to? Mostly, they are questions of legacy. They are self-centered, narcissistic even. It’s because no one depends on me and I spend all day by myself.

My board exam is exactly two weeks from today. I’m feeling a little worried. But I’m pretty much doing as much as I possibly can so… yeah.

I haven’t posted a photo of myself in a while so I figured it was time. Purely for documentation purposes.

Study, Study, Study

Seafarer

Tonight I wrote what I believe is the best poem I’ve ever written. That might not be saying much since I haven’t written strict poetry in a few years and maybe I was never the greatest at it to begin with. But I am pleased with these three stanzas. I would post it here but I’m still deciding how I’m going to publish it (contests and etc.) and I think I want to display it along with audio of it being read because poetry is, at its core, an audible art form.
Anyways, you can bet it’s layered like an onion with metaphors and medical references. It’s a poem physicians (and physicians in training) will immediately be able to decipher and others I think will at least grasp the atmosphere around what I’m trying to say. It may sound corny, but when I finished it I just had this feeling like this is the kind of thing God always intended me to do. To combine these two worlds that seem so different but really aren’t.
As I see it now, medicine is my mythology. Like the authors who wrote so many classics, I will exploit it to the best of my abilities to make my art more compelling. And after being entrenched in it for so long, it comes as second nature.

Most exciting part of my day. True story.

Today I finished The Bell Jar. I have such mixed feelings about it.
At first I kinda liked it. The beginning is somewhat reminiscent of Salinger. Somewhat. Then, about halfway through the book I realized I really didn’t like what I was reading because it sounded like an upper-class, ivy league school girl complaining about all this crap and basically just being plain miserable. And who wants to read about that right? Especially when there are a million more important things to read about and a million more people with real significant problems worth listening to. To be honest, I thought it was a lot of bourgeoisie garbage. Then, a few more chapters in, I felt like I should feel sorry for this girl because she really had a serious psychiatric medical condition. I began to wonder if this was a really accurate depiction of someone’s journey through a major depressive episode and what psychiatrists think of this book. Well, I still didn’t much enjoy what I was reading but I saw the value in it so I kept on and the last chapter slightly redeemed the book for me. Slightly. I think it’s a beautiful chapter.

Part of me wants to say that everyone going into medicine should read this book because, while I’m not a doctor yet, I do feel like it’s an impressive and accurate depiction of someone going through depression. Another part of me, the non-physician, non-empathetic part, wants to say don’t bother reading this book at all. The first half is a whole lotta whining about nothing and the second half is a lot of irrational, suicidal, abstract thoughts. The style of writing is pretty good but the protagonist is not likable at all. At least not to me. And if I don’t like the protagonist, I don’t care what happens to her in the end. It’s a basic rule of storytelling. You have to get the audience to like the protagonist in some way. He could be a serial killer but you better make him have at least one redeeming quality. Otherwise, why the heck would we care what happens to him? And why the heck would we want to keep reading/watching your art?

All that said, the part of me that did care about the protagonist came from me knowing that this was a fictionalized account of actual events in Sylvia Plath’s life. Because it was a real person, I couldn’t help but caring. That’s my physician side over-ridding my artistic logic. The funny thing was, after reading the cool, concise bonus bio at the end of the book, I found myself really wanting to read Plath’s poetry. I will probably pick up a collection of her’s sometime in the near future. Something tells me she was much better at constructing a stanza than a story.

I’ve been thinking lately that neurologists (and neurosurgeons for that matter) really have to be the most intelligent physicians. Not only is their residency the most competitive to get into but the actual information they deal with on a day to day basis is extremely complex and hard to process. Neuro-anatomy/physiology is my worst subject in all of medicine I think. It’s so difficult for me to grasp. It’s so intangible.

Study, Study, Study

I’ve been working a little bit at night on the demos for Year Two. I’m using some basic keys and rudimentary drum beats to help me figure out the structure on these songs. It’s fun to working on some music again.

Study, Study, Study

I saw the latest Woody Allen film, Midnight In Paris. I liked it a lot. I think it was classic Woody Allen in a way because of the magical realism employed. It reminded me a bit of The Purple Rose of Cairo. I liked Allen’s many literary and art references (many of which I didn’t fully get) because I thought they were used so effectively: they added to the story if you knew them but they didn’t take much away from it if you didn’t, you always had a good feel about what was going on in a scene with the characters even if you didn’t know exactly who each character was or what they were known for. Allen also carefully balances the specific character situations with overarching themes of how humans think about the world they live in. One thing I found pretty interesting is that sometimes this film can seem like “Woody Allen Lite Version” because of Owen Wilson’s tendency to deliver dialog at a much slower pace than Woody himself or most of the other protagonists he writes. I think we all know that if Woody could, he would still be the star of all of his films. And who can blame him? Few can deliver lines written by Woody Allen as good as Woody Allen himself. That said, it was an interesting choice to go with an actor so different than himself for a lead role but one that made for a well balanced and charming film.

It’s almost too hot to study outside.
Oh wait…
It IS too hot to study outside.

Drive-In

I saw a double feature of Transformers 3 and Super 8 at a really cool drive-in theater in the mountains! Fun stuff.

Also, earlier in the day, I went to a large exhibit at the Frist museum in Nashville on Warhol and how his art intertwined with the worlds of music and dance over the years. It was pretty interesting. I’m a huge fan of Warhol’s work ethic and quite a few of his pieces as well.

Music City

As part of my world wind tour of Nashville, I got a chance to check out the Third Man Records store. It was pretty sweet even though they didn’t have my favorite White Stripes album on vinyl. I like Jack White and what he’s doing with his label.

My friend Ali also took me to Nashville’s downtown library which is gorgeous and everything a library should be. While we were there we attended a talk by Roy Blount Jr.. It was pretty hilarious and somewhat insightful. He spoke on the way words sound when they’re spoken and how that connects to their meaning.

No, I did not eat these.

Taco Truck

I saw The Social Network tonight. It was a refreshing change of pace from The Tree of Life. The narrative was excellent. The soundtrack, by a musician I’m not fond of, was superb. And the acting was spot on, even Justin Timberlake was perfect for his part. I actually think he’s a pretty decent actor. Of course, Jesse Eisenberg stole the show as Mark Zuckerberg. I was expecting to not like the character more but I actually sympathized with him quite a bit; I don’t think he came off as such a terrible guy. The cinematography was even well done. To tell you the truth, I can’t think of a thing I didn’t like about the film.

Many big budget Hollywood movies get a lot of hype and so many art house indie films get a lot of hype but I think the best films balance those two extremes. This is really a lesson I learned from Robert McKee’s book Story but it’s also a truth I’ve been noticing more and more in the films I’ve been watching. To exist solely in either of those categories is almost certainly a recipe for disaster. But combine the best elements of the two and you could wind up with perfection.