Well, it's over. I sat the ASRT exam on Wednesday and graduated from radiography school Friday, and to be honest I'm glad it's all finished. The exam itself wasn't that hard (although I still want to see that pass-mark in writing, obviously.) I start my new job tomorrow,and I'll be in the hospital diagnostic department for a couple of weeks - my new office isn't quite ready, meaning that the X-ray equipment isn't installed, there's no lighting and the walls & ceiling need boarding out, the water isn't turned on, the floor needs screeding and there are no doors to any of the rooms except my examining room - but I'm told everything will be fine in two weeks. We'll see.
Graduation was, how shall I say, a little overdone. There was us Radiographers, the School of Professional Nursing, the Surgical Technologists and the Licensed Practical Nursing graduates, all sweating away in cap-&-gown in a local school hall. All the big cheeses from the Hospital medical training school were there, the VP, the Dean, the Director of Paper Clips and a few I didn't know, and they all had plenty to say. Then we went first, shook the hand, took the certificate, had the photo. Then we watched while everyone else did the same. The LPN awards were accompanied by some hootin' an' hollerin' and the announcer for the School of Professional Nursing was particularly snotty, but then I understand she's always been that way. Then the 'piece de resistance' - the candlelit recitation of the Oath of Professionalism. Yes, folks, one hundred or so people, in a cramped hall, in the dark, wearing billowing polyester robes and holding candles. Can you say 'conflagration?'
Fortunately, no-one fell over their robe, or set themselves or anyone else alight, so in that respect the night could be called a success. All my in-laws turned up, which I really appreciated, and El Jeffe was very proud of me. The Riverside School of Health Careers staff were genuinely sorry to see us all go. Hugs, kisses all round - even the irrepressible Mrs P managed a tear or two.
Oh, one more thing. We have a new family member, an eight-week-old Chesapeake Bay Retriever named Tater. Damn, he's cute, but Lord does he have some teeth on him. We should have called him Gator instead. He doesn't sleep much, and when he's not asleep he usually wants to bite something, and/or pee on something. He has a peculiar liking for the gusset of my underpants, and he's chewed the lining of my shorts as well, when I am using the smallest room in the house, shall we say. He's also bitten the contents of my shorts more than once, which is even less funny than it sounds. But he's still very cute.
Anyway, that's it for now. I'm off to put some Band-Aids on my cojones.
Thought for the day - you can bite the hand that feeds you - but JUST the hand. Night, all
Monday, July 31, 2006
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Absolutely Hank Marvin
Well, I had a preliminary mock X-ray Registry test today, in preparation for the real thing next Wednesday (see previous post "The Registry Looms"), and it was an early start. I left home at 8am, and by the end of the test I was very hungry, or as we English would say, "Absolutely Hank Marvin" (starvin'). The Registry is a test of brain power, logical reasoning, memory, intelligence and rational thought. All these things I find very taxing, so I'd worked up a raging and fearful hunger by the end of it.
So off we went, getting to a decidedly Proletarian biker bar called Hoss's Deli about 11.40, and promptly ordered drink and food to be brought out without further ado. A glass of tea went down, no food. Another. Nothing. Waitress refilling drinks and muttering darkly about food delays. Some of my friends were drinking beer, naturally, and by 12.30 there were as many pitchers on the table as there were people around it. Things were turning ugly.
By 1pm we were getting desperate. We hadn't eaten for hours, you see, and the low blood sugar wasn't reacting well with the alcohol for some people. Unfortunately, Hoss's Deli is kind of greasy and seedy, especially Hoss himself. We briefly considered leaving in a huff, but doing a runner from Hoss's is not like haggling over the bill in IHOP. The regulars were starting to look over and gnaw on their beards.
Anyway, the food turned up, and it has to be said that it was first-rate, especially for somewhere as rough as Hoss's - I mean, there's a sign asking for patrons to refrain from gambling or touching the waitresses without paying first (I kid you not - I'd love to see the place on a Saturday night) and the menu includes both steamed and grilled hooker. I'm married, so I just went for grilled chicken and crab meat sandwich.
So all in all, quite an experience. I'd definitely go back (although I doubt El Jeffe would like it.) If you're ever looking for somewhere different to eat on the Virginia Peninsula, you could do worse than try the hot steamed hookers at Hoss's Deli, although you might want to bring a snack.
Thought for the day - wake up with a smile on your face: go to bed with a coathanger in your mouth. Night, all.
So off we went, getting to a decidedly Proletarian biker bar called Hoss's Deli about 11.40, and promptly ordered drink and food to be brought out without further ado. A glass of tea went down, no food. Another. Nothing. Waitress refilling drinks and muttering darkly about food delays. Some of my friends were drinking beer, naturally, and by 12.30 there were as many pitchers on the table as there were people around it. Things were turning ugly.
By 1pm we were getting desperate. We hadn't eaten for hours, you see, and the low blood sugar wasn't reacting well with the alcohol for some people. Unfortunately, Hoss's Deli is kind of greasy and seedy, especially Hoss himself. We briefly considered leaving in a huff, but doing a runner from Hoss's is not like haggling over the bill in IHOP. The regulars were starting to look over and gnaw on their beards.
Anyway, the food turned up, and it has to be said that it was first-rate, especially for somewhere as rough as Hoss's - I mean, there's a sign asking for patrons to refrain from gambling or touching the waitresses without paying first (I kid you not - I'd love to see the place on a Saturday night) and the menu includes both steamed and grilled hooker. I'm married, so I just went for grilled chicken and crab meat sandwich.
So all in all, quite an experience. I'd definitely go back (although I doubt El Jeffe would like it.) If you're ever looking for somewhere different to eat on the Virginia Peninsula, you could do worse than try the hot steamed hookers at Hoss's Deli, although you might want to bring a snack.
Thought for the day - wake up with a smile on your face: go to bed with a coathanger in your mouth. Night, all.
Friday, July 14, 2006
God bless the DMV
It's not been my day at all. Let me set the scene.
When I came to the USA in March 2004 I was required, quite rightly, to show a lot of documentary proof that I was who I said I was, and my move across the pond was all above board and kosher. I produced passports, birth certificate, medical records, immunization records, bank records, employment records and evidence for a lack of criminal records. I completely understand the need for this - indeed, if the government of Britain, my mother country, demanded these things of people entering from overseas, a lot of illegal immigration, poverty, homelessness, violent crime and quite possibly terrorist activity would be avoided. So please don't think that I begrudge the INS or the DHS at all. After all, the let me into this wonderful, if misunderstood country of yours, let me train for and find a good job and allowed me to marry my beloved wife, and for that I am forever grateful.
But the DMV, now there's a different matter. It took me about six months back in 2004 to get the to allow me, as a legal resident in the USA, and with a British driving license that allowed me to drive in the USA for a limited time, to apply for a Virginia driving license. They finally gave in, and I took the theory and practical tests and passed. They gave me a license, which was to be renewed in July 2006. Today, in fact.
So off I went to the DMV, with my documentary evidence clasped in my hot little hand. They looked at the documents, and nodded. They asked me to look into the box and read the letters out (I need glasses to drive), and smiled as I reeled them off. Then it happened.
"Are you ready to take your test?" chirped the desk person. I didn't quite understand, after all I'd passed my test in 2004. They repeated the question. "Not really," said I. "I thought I'd already passed it once and didn't expect to have to do it again." Not so, apparently. My original work authorization, used to obtain my original driving license, ran out in April 2006 and was returned to the INS for replacement with my current one. Apparently this meant that my driving license not only had to be renewed, they wanted me to redo the whole test. Something about having to do a parallel park before I am allowed to wheel a hospital gurney down a corridor without an adult, or somesuch nonsense.
To be fair, the desk person did consult in the back office before giving me the bad news. Apparently that DMV doesn't get many foreigners and I suppose I put them into a bit of a tizzy. But anyway, they made me redo the test, both theory and practical. I passed, and they sent me on my merry way. Hopefully that will be it for a few years, although I'm willing to bet I have to do it a third time when my chicken pox vaccine needs doing again in 2013. I'm just relieved they didn't ask me to drop trou, bend over and cough in the DMV waiting room.
Other breaking news - El Jeffe has sprained her ankle. She was walking our purebred Middle Peninsula Turd-eating Hound, Poppy, and trod in a hole. She was so grumpy after being laid flat with an icepack on her leg for 2 days, and I got her a walker to hobble around on (El Jeffe, not Poppy.) I must admit, I enjoyed poking fun at her, although I suppose I shouldn't do it too much. I hear Paul McCartney lost half his fortune to Heather Mills beacuse he poked fun at her for only having one leg. Probably he played "This Boot Was Made For Walking" or "Blue Suede Shoe" once too often. I think it was because when she called him at the office and was put on hold, the hold music was Danny & The Juniors "At The Hop."
Thought for the day - driving is a privilege, not a right. Especially if you've had the measles in the last 5 years. Night, all.
When I came to the USA in March 2004 I was required, quite rightly, to show a lot of documentary proof that I was who I said I was, and my move across the pond was all above board and kosher. I produced passports, birth certificate, medical records, immunization records, bank records, employment records and evidence for a lack of criminal records. I completely understand the need for this - indeed, if the government of Britain, my mother country, demanded these things of people entering from overseas, a lot of illegal immigration, poverty, homelessness, violent crime and quite possibly terrorist activity would be avoided. So please don't think that I begrudge the INS or the DHS at all. After all, the let me into this wonderful, if misunderstood country of yours, let me train for and find a good job and allowed me to marry my beloved wife, and for that I am forever grateful.
But the DMV, now there's a different matter. It took me about six months back in 2004 to get the to allow me, as a legal resident in the USA, and with a British driving license that allowed me to drive in the USA for a limited time, to apply for a Virginia driving license. They finally gave in, and I took the theory and practical tests and passed. They gave me a license, which was to be renewed in July 2006. Today, in fact.
So off I went to the DMV, with my documentary evidence clasped in my hot little hand. They looked at the documents, and nodded. They asked me to look into the box and read the letters out (I need glasses to drive), and smiled as I reeled them off. Then it happened.
"Are you ready to take your test?" chirped the desk person. I didn't quite understand, after all I'd passed my test in 2004. They repeated the question. "Not really," said I. "I thought I'd already passed it once and didn't expect to have to do it again." Not so, apparently. My original work authorization, used to obtain my original driving license, ran out in April 2006 and was returned to the INS for replacement with my current one. Apparently this meant that my driving license not only had to be renewed, they wanted me to redo the whole test. Something about having to do a parallel park before I am allowed to wheel a hospital gurney down a corridor without an adult, or somesuch nonsense.
To be fair, the desk person did consult in the back office before giving me the bad news. Apparently that DMV doesn't get many foreigners and I suppose I put them into a bit of a tizzy. But anyway, they made me redo the test, both theory and practical. I passed, and they sent me on my merry way. Hopefully that will be it for a few years, although I'm willing to bet I have to do it a third time when my chicken pox vaccine needs doing again in 2013. I'm just relieved they didn't ask me to drop trou, bend over and cough in the DMV waiting room.
Other breaking news - El Jeffe has sprained her ankle. She was walking our purebred Middle Peninsula Turd-eating Hound, Poppy, and trod in a hole. She was so grumpy after being laid flat with an icepack on her leg for 2 days, and I got her a walker to hobble around on (El Jeffe, not Poppy.) I must admit, I enjoyed poking fun at her, although I suppose I shouldn't do it too much. I hear Paul McCartney lost half his fortune to Heather Mills beacuse he poked fun at her for only having one leg. Probably he played "This Boot Was Made For Walking" or "Blue Suede Shoe" once too often. I think it was because when she called him at the office and was put on hold, the hold music was Danny & The Juniors "At The Hop."
Thought for the day - driving is a privilege, not a right. Especially if you've had the measles in the last 5 years. Night, all.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Gad, it's hot
Gad, it's hot. The heat index yesterday was a roasting 105, which is just about enough to make me cry. I was out yesterday morning mowing the lawn, dying in the broiling sun, with El Jeffe bravely following up with the weed-whacker. I then went to the dump, and burned my butt on the car seat. The wheelie-bin was so hot by the time I got there it was going soft and pliable. Even the flies at the dump were just lying there, gasping at each other.
I'm not at all acclimatized to the summers here in Virginia - I've only been in the US since March '04, and I'm used to the temperate English climate. Last summer, for instance, a friend rang me from England to tell me about the heatwave there. "It's 86 in my garden," he wailed. I scoffed indignantly, explaining that it was hotter than that at night in my garden in Virginia. He was too hot and weak to argue further, and we chatted politely (as we English are wont to do) about the weather, cricket, the weather, the Royals and the weather. I could hear him panting as he struggled to raise a cold glass of gin & tonic to his parched lips. What a pussy.
So it's 4th of July, and everyone is on vacation. Except me, it seems. I'm in the hospital, x-raying the sick, the hot, the unlucky, the clumsy. But only until 3-30. Then it's away for a quick bath, then out tonight for a slap-up meal with my brother-in-law, and then on to watch the fireworks at Yorktown Beach. That is, if I can stand the heat. Gad, it's hot.
Thought for the day - don't let your dogma get run over by your karma. Night, all.
I'm not at all acclimatized to the summers here in Virginia - I've only been in the US since March '04, and I'm used to the temperate English climate. Last summer, for instance, a friend rang me from England to tell me about the heatwave there. "It's 86 in my garden," he wailed. I scoffed indignantly, explaining that it was hotter than that at night in my garden in Virginia. He was too hot and weak to argue further, and we chatted politely (as we English are wont to do) about the weather, cricket, the weather, the Royals and the weather. I could hear him panting as he struggled to raise a cold glass of gin & tonic to his parched lips. What a pussy.
So it's 4th of July, and everyone is on vacation. Except me, it seems. I'm in the hospital, x-raying the sick, the hot, the unlucky, the clumsy. But only until 3-30. Then it's away for a quick bath, then out tonight for a slap-up meal with my brother-in-law, and then on to watch the fireworks at Yorktown Beach. That is, if I can stand the heat. Gad, it's hot.
Thought for the day - don't let your dogma get run over by your karma. Night, all.
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