HSM vs. camp rock

For reasons that are not entirely clear, we spent last Saturday night watching Camp Rock and High School Musical 2. If you are like me and live under a rock (Jonas who?), you may not have heard of these cinematic masterpieces, the latest from Disney's marketing geniuses. It seems the formula for wild success with teenaged (and, apparently, unnamed 20-something) girls is any combination of cute boys, upbeat candy pop, and choreographed group dance. Plot is irrelevant, as are acting skills. So which of these soon-to-be-classic films comes out on top? Let us compare according to the aforementioned criteria.

1) Cute boys

I have to go with Camp Rock and the Jonas brothers on this one. While Zac Efron (HSM) isn't bad, he reeks of fake-bake and too much makeup. The middle Jonas brother really takes the cake in "smoldering hotness": several million teenage girls can't all have bad taste (+1). Unfortunately, the oldest Jonas brother has hideous poodle-puff hair in this movie (-1), as well as some pretty idiotic lines. He just can't catch a break. The youngest one is adorable though, and the middle brother gets some quality close-up shots as he serenades us -- I mean, his on-screen love interest -- on the guitar (+1).


CR 1, HSM 0

2) Upbeat candy pop

Both movies are pretty comparable in this category. I wouldn't be surprised if many of the same artists worked on both movies. No huge risks, no experimental funk riffs, no mind-bending or innovative chord progessions. A lot of your basic VI-IV-I-V, with solid inspirational "be yourself" Disney messages sprinkled throughout the lyrics. That said, Disney does nothing if not excel at catchy pop that you can't help liking immediately. CR +1, HSM +1.

CR 2, HSM 1

3) Choreographed group dance routines

High School Musical definitely wins here. I have no idea how the producers of Camp Rock dropped the ball so completely on the dance routines and/or casting kids who can dance. There is one particularly painful scene in which the middle Jonas brother is supposed to be "teaching" the group of aspiring rockers how to dance. He kind of flails about with seizure-like activity. Seriously, how did the director see this after filming and actually go, "Hey yeah, that's great, let's put this scene in the movie!" It's clear that the HSM kids are all extremely natural and talented dancers, and they benefit from great choreography as well (+1).

FINAL SCORE: CR 2, HSM 2 TIE!! I think what this means is that there is no winner when it comes to watching either of these movies.

But wait!! There is a fourth bonus category: unintentional comedic value. Now I know I said that plot and acting ability are irrelevant in these movies, and that mostly holds true. However, Camp Rock pushes the envelope when it comes to unacceptably bad acting, flat dialogue, and cheesy predictable plot. This, on top of the poodle-puff hair and seizure-dancing, makes for nonstop hilarity!! Good times and laughs all around!! CR +1 for the win!!

P.S. Okay, this is somewhat lame.
P.P.S. Shut up, I'm an MS4 with time on my hands.

lost in thought

Is it incredibly morbid that I feel most alive when my patients' lives hang by a thread? I've come to realize that what inspires me most in medicine is life and death, quick decisiveness, saving lives. In all my current apathy, it's almost like I need the intense (melo)drama and adrenaline that comes with caring for a patient who is literally fighting for each minute of his/her life. It makes me think. It makes me care. It makes me appreciate.

And when they often die, it makes me incredibly sad.

I often joke that I don't believe in moderation, but it's mostly true: I will work out either every day or not at all. I often binge eat. I won't study at all for 7 weeks, then cram like a maniac for a week straight. My emotions have always been rather extreme as well, and recently have become closely linked to the work I do. I don't know what's the lesser of two evils: being so apathetic in life as to mimic melancholic depression, or feeling alive only because of a constant melodramatic reminder of how fragile we all are.

I don't know what I want to do with my career. I fear that following my passion for life/death will lead to throwing my entire emotional reserve into my work with nothing left for myself and/or relationships. On the other hand, the daily grind of boredom, apathy, and leaden paralysis is getting me nowhere either.

intent

A few days ago I performed my first D&C. Granted, it was an incomplete abortion (a miscarriage in which products of conception are not completely expelled and require evacuation) and was not done expressly for the purpose of aborting a fetus. Like any other surgical procedure, it felt oddly impersonal and detached. The patient, draped in sterile fashion with only the surgical site exposed, appears merely as a body part. All members of the surgical team, covered in hats, masks, long sterile gowns, gloves and shoe covers, appear mostly anonymous. The procedure itself - simple enough that I was allowed to perform much of it - is a series of well-rehearsed steps. We were in the OR probably less than 30 minutes.

I couldn't help thinking the whole time, though, that this D&C wasn't done any differently than when performed specifically to abort a pregnancy. Clearly, medical abortion is a giant ethical and moral debate with infinite arguments about what constitutes a "life"; however, from a strictly surgical perspective, it really doesn't feel any different. Like law and murder/manslaughter, it all seems to fall back on intent. Parsing out intent vaguely intellectualizes the whole situation in the first place, yet abortion draws fervently emotional responses. It's easy to debate medicolegal issues like euthanasia and abortion in the intellectual sense, but in person (in hospital?) nothing is black and white. If everyone could see things like this, I wonder if there would be more open-minded, gray people.

On that note, I leave you with this article published yesterday in the Times, written by an retired OB/Gyn discussing his experience before Roe v. Wade.