"Funny, she doesn't look Druish."
November 5, 2000
So for the past few days, I've had a series of thoughts stuck in my head, ricocheting in my skull endlessly like some diabolical feedback loop set out to destroy me. Maybe I've been studying too much. I know this happens to everyone--they get a song stuck in their head, or a certain phrase that they can't stop thinking about. And that's cool. I can deal with that once in a while. But what I have in my head just isn't normal.
Call me tasteful, but I don't actually think this movie is that funny. I haven't watched it for years. But for some reason, I can remember many of the scenes almost word for word. Mel Brooks is controlling my mind. In particular, here are the scenes that I can't stop thinking about
That scene at the end when Lone Star opens up the fortune cookie and Yogurt pops out.
Yogurt: Your father was a king! Your mother was a queen!
And you...are a certified prince.
Lone Star: I'm a prince! I'm a prince!
That scene at the end after they reverse the giant Statue of Liberty vacuum cleaner and blow all the oxygen back into the Druidian atmosphere.
King Roland: (waking up from anoxic coma) Air. AIR!
The scene all the way in the beginning where Lone Star is told that he has to save Princess Vespa from Dark Helmet.
Lone Star: Great. A Druish Princess.
Barf: Funny, she doesn't look Druish.
Why is Spaceballs in my head? I don't know. I think this is one of those signs of OCD that we learned about in Psych Med. Persistent, intrusive, obsessive thoughts. I have to go wash my hands repeatedly, now.
In other exciting news, I just talked to Coleen last night (who, by the way, hasn't updated her links to my new site. Just thought I'd mention it, lady). She was on her way to a party. I myself was studying all about anesthetics. (For example, which anesthetic would be the best to use for patients with intercranial hematoma? Why, etomidate, of course. Like I even needed to ask.) It's times like these that the division between med school people and real people is so clear. Real people get off on weekends. Real people, for the most part, get to relax when they get home from work. Real people get to watch TV. Real people get to have a beer with dinner without worrying about the possible CNS depressive effects of alcohol and how that might impact their study plans later on. It made me feel kind of pathetic. Like there was Coleen, getting ready to go to some funky hoedown like any normal twenty-something on a Saturday night--and here I was, grimy and bespectacled behind a mound of pharmacology texts, with hastily scribbled flashcards strewn all around me like the fallen carcasses of patients I might kill if I don't learn this material.
Remember how I told you that my friend Shan was in town this weekend from Boston? Well, I don't think I actually told you his name, but...ladies and gentlemen, meet Shan. Anyway, I should call him sometime soon, because he e-mailed me last night about seeing each other while he's in town, and I feel like if I don't try to make it happen this time around, I'll be a bad person. It's a little weird, though. We used to date, and now I haven't seen him for a year and a half. Yeah, that sort of weirdness. I'm sure it'll be all cool when and if we do manage to meet up, but for future reference, these are things that guys (or girls, I guess--I'm an equal opportunity advice doler) should absolutely not do when talking to an ex:
DO NOT within the first three minutes of the encounter
mention that you're seeing someone new. That to me says,
"Hey, look! I'm dating someone else! Some other girl
wants me even if you didn't! Jealous?" Of course your
new relationship is going to come up at some point, but
when you rush the delivery, it looks so contrived. Not cool.
DO NOT tell me how much money you're making. Like I
give a fuck. "Wow, I didn't really respect you before, but
now that you're rich...I might reconsider."
DO NOT try to act like we're still together and put the
moves on me, as though I will be wooed by your irresistable
manliness and fall helplessly into your arms. Because
we're not dating anymore for a reason.
Whatever you do, DO NOT ever read this page if you used
to date me, because I will end up talking about you.
Heh. OK, so I'll call Shan. Let me just finish running through this stack of index cards first.