Dear Friends. As you can see, I’ve changed. Background, template, all new. I’ve even started eating fat free cream cheese. You can’t see it, but trust me, it’s there. The past month has seen a few interesting tidbits of news. First, I’ve received word from all the schools to which I effectively applied*, and 4 out of the 5 have invited me for interviews. Who’s the fifth dentist? Vanderbilt. But who likes Tennessee anyway?
Thanks to all who supported me during the application process, read and corrected my Statement of Purpose, put up with my long absence from social events, and made out with me. Special thanks to Friend, who was the most active in the first three instances and sole contributor to the last.
Anyway, I had my first interview this past weekend at UNC. I had a smashing time and talked an unbelievable amount about myself.

I’ve been thinking about starting a separate blog for my dreams, which are sometimes so detailed and epic that I wake up feeling like I ran a 5K. It reminds me of a Mitch Hedberg clip:
“I hate dreaming because when you want to sleep, you want to sleep. Dreaming is work. [I fall asleep, and the] next thing I know, I have to build a go-cart with my ex-landlord.”

Maybe you had to be there.

To give you a taste of my mind’s twilight activities, a few weeks ago I had to be shaken awake by Friend after being ambushed from the sky by a building-sized Antonio Salieri, complete in black robe and mask, on my elementary school playground. As I'm just noticing, the whole sequence looked almost exactly like the cover of Amadeus, except Vienna was St. Croix Catholic School. Who knows what would have happened had Friend not been there to calm my moaning and thrashing. Salieri probably would have wanted me to write a requiem mass that would have ironically been played at my own funeral. Dodged that bullet.
I get suspicious sometimes over the terror that occasionally accompanies my grammar-school related dreams. Maybe my mind is fighting to free some long-repressed memory, like soiling myself in the 1st grade or overhearing my 5th grade teacher criticize my giant paper-mache blue whale. Wait, I guess I do remember those things, but you get the picture.

In related news, I have a new therapist. The word “therapist” is a bit of a misnomer in my opinion. I think “Professional Listener” or “Sentiment Translator” would be more appropriate. She will also be my new “Captain Obvious”. Have you ever been talking to someone and thought, “How is it possible that you don’t realize (insert blatantly obvious observation)”, but were too polite to say it? Captain’s Obvious are not always well-liked, but turns out you can get paid for it. How about that?
Moving on.

This next paragraph is dedicated to a college acquaintance who once described me as “high on myself”.
I’ve been doing great at work. Extracting and smashing mouse lymph nodes, writing perfectly crafted consent forms at an 8th grade level, editing protocols. I am the man! These are the facts of the case, and they are undisputed.




*Berkeley didn't post on their site that you're required to enter with your own funding.