There are 4 semesters in a year, and each semester, every group is assigned a PBL tutor to facilitate the session. We have been having a particularly bad run with tutors this year, starting with the Russian Post Doc fellow who did not believe in a democracy and chose to play dictator, the retired GP who spoke about not much else apart from her ski trips and ski lodge in colorado and the ex-dentist, turned homeopath whom the boys never took seriously.

This semester we have Kath, an Emergency Department Registrar, with razor sharp wit and the clinical smarts we all so desperately need during our case discussion.

Here are some of my favourite quips from Kath thus far:

“I am an emergency medicine doctor and I have no empathy for people, please take your sob story somewhere else.”

To a particularly self righteous PBL mate
Kath: “Tim, have you ever been wrong in your life?”
Tim, after a moment’s deliberation, “No Kath, I can’t say I have been.”
Kath: : “Ah. That’s what I thought.”

To a particularly obnoxious PBL mate who signs off the attendance roll by initialing his name in caps
Kath: “Tristan, at which point in life did you develop this signature, kindergarten?”
Tristian: “Yea that would be about right”
Kath: “One hopes you have achieved normal developmental milestones in other areas of your life.”

“I work in the ED. I have a very short attention span. I hate long pointless presentations, have a timer set to 8mins and am not afraid to use it.”

Excellent!

‘It starts here, with a lackluster establishing shot of the significant location. Next a walky-talky preamble by the auteur pacing steadily towards the lens, punctuating every other sentence with a hand gesture and ignoring all the other pricks milling around him like he’s gliding through the fucking matrix. Before coming to a halt and posing a question. What comes next?’

His semi recent comic strip made my day, perhaps because I can relate to it, to a certain degree, and I love how he manages to effectively communicate rage through his drawings. Helps that how he draws himself in all his strips reminds me very much of Hanamichi Sakuragi, the main protagonist of Slam Dunk, a manga series I loved, but struggled to read when I was 14, no thanks to my half-past-six mandarin.

Honour and Glory!

Some favourite panels. Read! It is excellent stuff.

Grabbed with permission

Here’s Ok Go’s This too shall pass, super domino effects. Fun!

Reminiscent of Honda’s The Cog, ad.

Excerpts from a Dog’s Diary

8:00 am – Dog food! My favourite thing!
9:30 am – A car ride! My favourite thing!
9:40 am – A walk in the park! My favourite thing!
10:30 am – Got rubbed and patted! My favourite thing!
12:00 pm – Lunch! My favourite thing!
1:00 pm – Played in the yard! My favourite thing!
3:00 pm – Wagged my tail! My favourite thing!
5:00 pm – Milk Bones! My favourite thing!
7:00 pm – Got to play ball! My favourite thing!
8:00 pm – Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favourite thing!
11:00 pm – Sleeping on the bed! My favourite thing!

Excerpts from a Cat’s Diary

Day 983 of my captivity …

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets.

Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a ‘good little hunter’ I am. Bastards.

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of ‘allergies’. I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow — but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released – and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now …