Medical School: Year Two

Clinical Exposure

Physical Diagnosis is a medical school course that overlaps the conclusion of basic sciences and is given at the end of the second year.

Students are required to buy the “Bible of Physical Signs” other wise aptly known as: Physical Diagnosis, a little red leather covered book by DeGowan and DeGowan, which they are then told to memorize and carry with them in their little black leather bags for the rest of their lives. Memorizing it is easier said than done. After all, it is a Bible and if the Bible itself is all you must memorize, then perhaps over a lifetime you might become successful at regurgitating it.

Just ask Billy Graham, or any other Bible toting evangelist. Pose a question. Receive a parable in return. No real thought required. Problem solved. Or problem only temporarily shelved:

  • Go in peace my son; I know that your life really sucks, but keep praying to God for eternal salvation. Things might seem to be bad right now, but ultimately, they can only get better.
  • But that’s the same thing my stockbroker told me when I lost all my money. Twice.
  • My son. Do not ever confuse the secular world of monetary greed with the promise of joyous everlasting life in the next world.

Unfortunately for physicians, we must memorize a few dozen Bibles, as the solutions to our problems can often be so obscure that even invoking the name of God does not always result in a comforting resolution.

  • After this terminally ill patient finally does rest in peace, we’ll say perpetual Novenas to the Gods of Malpractice that we never get sued.

There is a rigorous approach to the Physical Diagnosis course stressing the basic elements of abnormal physical findings that my instructor boiled down to what he thought would be a jocular contemporary mnemonic to assist us getting through it: HIPPAY; which stands for History, Inspection, Percussion, Palpation, And…. Yell for help!

He thought he was being funny. We thought he was being idiotically insulting. After all, we were the nuclear radiated mutant hippie class, were we not, so why keep rubbing it in?

Medicine is replete with mnemonics that are designed to prompt memory and remain useful cues if they are appropriately applied; but not like the singsong one traditionally used to teach children the alphabet. It took my mother quite some time to force my understanding that LMNOP (ele-mena-pee) does not stand for one single letter or a single-minded desire to evacuate the bladder.

This point illustrates that in learning anything, Rote is not necessarily equivalent to Right, unless logical thought processes use the Rote in the Right way.

For example, using MOST DAMP as the mnemonic cue used to treat the internal drowning of congestive heart failure has a rational application, if it is used with a certain clinical panache. If not overzealousness automatic use of all of these elements may sometimes do more harm than good. Sometimes you only need M&Ms to treat heart failure: a little Merck (Lasix) and a few drams of Morphine.

This was only one of the reasons God invented narcotics and why a leading research Cardiologist at the Columbia–Presbyterian Hospital orientation program gives his first-year Fellows a button to wear on their white coats that reads: Lasix kills. This teaching point being not to treat every patient with a cook-book recipe as opposed to an analytical thought process with subsequent careful medical titration.

P: for Phlebotomy did not even work out very well; when in the Middle Ages leaches were used to bleed patients half to death, having subsequently been abandoned as an ancillary therapy for heart failure.

  • Yes. Once we leach out all his malodorous phlegmons, your husband will hardly be able to speak, much less ever be able to stand up or possibly even walk again. But he will be better.
  • Thank you doctor. I’ve been trying to get him to shut up, sit still and stop chasing after my ass for the last thirty years. I’ll be sure to remember you in his Will.

Mnemonic learning is also helpful in medical training because the body of medical knowledge is so overwhelming. But this method eventually becomes abandoned as clinical experience adds a base of reality testing to rote learning.

Yelling for help is always sound advice for the same reason. One cannot possibly remember everything and so asking a colleague for a consultation or advice or personally consulting text and literature can often be vital. Unfortunately, some egocentric doctors seem to forget this tenet; or worse they sometimes forget that they forgot.

It was amazing as my career in medicine moved along, as to how many colleagues seem to have forgotten that the story a patient tells is about seventy-five percent of the diagnostic battle, the physical exam adds another fifteen percent; and with a good synthesis of both, a seasoned clinician can then direct a limited number of lab tests that should hopefully finish off the job.

That is unless the disease entity is so obscure as to baffle even the best minds, which is why we have places like the Mayo Clinic or other Meccas of academic excellence. When in real doubt: Punt.

It is also unfortunate that many physicians do not care to take the time to listen or do not know how to peel back the onion-skin of the patient’s story to get to the core of the problem. This is a skill that takes years of practice to develop and even more years of practice to ensure that it can be done in a short framework of time.

For the most part, physicians do not have the luxury of the infinite amount of time that Marcus Welby seemed to have when as week after week, not only did he have only one patient to attend, but also found himself purposefully inserting himself into that patient’s personal life and then becoming the family’s best friend.

Better than having a family dog, just go out and get your own personal M.D. and although in real life it simply does not go down like that, some of my patients still think nothing of having me entertain their queries while I am shopping for food or practicing putting.

  • Doctah, doctah. I know you’re relaxing on your day off, but do you think you can take just one tiny little minute to take one eensy little peek at my teensy little new skin rash?
  • Oy vey. As you know, I am not a Dermatologist. But if I were going to guess, it looks to me like it might be case of genital herpes. So, you can put your clothes back on now, then go ahead and pay for your groceries.

Shortcutting the non-essentials is also critical to saving time. For example, when seeing a patient and asking when the chest pain problem first started, one is not interested in retorts that catalogue every action the patient did from birth or tedious monotonous histories such as:

  • I woke up today at 5 a.m. I usually wake up at 4:50 a.m. I knew right then I was in for trouble. Then I had a bagel for breakfast. That’s not what I normally eat. Normally I eat granola and yogurt. Then my coffee pot broke and I need my coffee and my normal food so that I can have my normal bowel movement. If I don’t get my normal bowel movement I know my entire day will be off and I will just be logy and tired and miserable all afternoon or maybe even have to take a nap even though I really don’t want to. So, against my better judgment I gave in and had a Sanka. Then when I finally had my bowel movement, later than I usually like to have it, it wasn’t like the normal one. Usually it is short, fat, tubular, dark and brown, then breaks into pieces and sinks to the bottom of the bowl. This one was long, thin, light and yellowish; about 18 inches total, stayed all in one piece and floated. That was when I knew I was really going to be in for a bad day. So, then I had to get dressed when I normally don’t get dressed and….

Prattling on and on and having nothing to do with the fact that this person is being evaluated for the new onset of chest pain; it took me years of experience to learn how to re-direct a patient’s thought process and expedite getting quickly to the point without being undiplomatic or making the patient feel as though I was rushing them.

  • Why don’t you just think about what’s happening in your case as being bad constipation in your coronary arteries. Now tell me about your chest pain.

Unlike the legal system, in which time, like a running taxi meter is endless, where time also then equates to  money, and additionally where the truth can be hopelessly perverted, ignored or purposefully obfuscated, in Medicine time is of the essence, money is discounted and the truth is the vitally important element that can mean the difference between life or death. I came to believe that the universally appropriate gift for a Law School graduate should be a tie tack shaped as the Infinity Sign.

After all: Time is infinite. And legal time means infinite money.


(Reminds me a little bit of the 3-Cs (prior post: Cornflakes, Coffee, and Cunnilingus). Except that now everyone is getting fucked, but no one is getting laid)

As a countervailing issue, in the modern era of medicine there is often too much reliance on the shotgun approach to lab or procedural testing, while too little emphasis is placed on basic logical thinking. Accessibility and availability of advanced technology as well as excessive malpractice litigation has sent the cost of medical care through the roof.

With the fear of the Medical Malpractice legal vultures always circling overhead; on wisps of doubt, as well as the fact that it does not cost a physician anything to order a test, we are now living in the era of medical errors of commission. Lawyers have taught us that if one can think of a test to do, one should simply do it. Meanwhile as always viewing issues from the perspective of Monday morning quarterbacking and self-righteous hindsight they constantly feed off the carrion of imperfect outcomes.

When asked to see some patients in consultation, where the requesting physician has omitted many elements of basic training, including a good history and physical examination as well as a dearth of logic or common sense having been applied to a morass of useless information, I rely on an axiomatic statement taught me by an attending physician who supervised us during those first years of training in physical diagnosis:

  • Ladies and Gentlemen, when all else fails, why don’t we just begin by examining the patient?

However, there is a certain degree of psychic trauma that accompanies the beginning clinical training as the second-year medical student leaves basic book learning behind.

This is a Right of Passage in which rote memorization does not help unless facts can be synthesized, in which introverted, socially isolated intellects actually have to meet, touch and talk to real people disadvantaged by illness and where quantitative analysis breaks down at the level of qualitative evaluation.

It is a time when multiple choice test questions become replaced by a differential diagnosis and when a patient may face the additional problem of dealing with multiple concurrent illnesses. Guessing wrong on this test runs a gamut of far different potentially negative results than only receiving a poor numerical grade.

  • Oops, sorry, it was a really a heart attack and not just a bad case of indigestion.

It is a time when deductive reasoning reigns supreme; but also, when a naïve student begins to develop a personal inventory of logic that only comes with continued experience and clinical exposure. The patient becomes a book that has a limitless number of pages, but a book that also does not have an index or chapter headings.

Every patient becomes a new black box. The student then must logically deduce what is potentially wrong with a person who cannot necessarily explain it well and who may also be covered with dirt, crust, scales, rashes, odors or sometimes even with insects. One also must be able to do it expeditiously; without regard to race, color, creed, personality, sexual identity or personal bias, and preconceptions; not even withstanding the deeper layers of the physical exam than can include a rectal or vaginal probe, or both.

It is a time when the art and science of medicine is a blank palette in a student’s hand and is also a time where the cornerstone of the Hippocratic oath is placed in the foundation of the medical student’s career. But as  with any potential building, some cornerstones and some foundations turn out to be more solid than others.

Being shyly xenophobic to begin with and since I had never even wanted to speak to strangers; much less then even having to touch them, I struggled to overcome the barriers I needed to expeditiously become superficially intimate with perfect strangers in a short period of time.

Medical training requires the ability to become intimate while at the same time maintaining a certain professional barrier that should preclude becoming friends. Because once a doctor truly befriends his patient, he tends to lose the ability to think objectively and thus the serious potential pitfall to provide a disservice.

One of the great failures of medical training programs and a disservice to humanity in general is to guide or to allow the student, Intern, or Resident to enter medical disciplines that do not suit any or all of his individual talents, his personality, or his individual skill sets; as well as failing to inform some of these individuals that they should seek career choices in another discipline altogether.

  • Son. Surgery is not your forte. But you are good with a knife, so you might want to consider a career as a butcher.

It is very hard to do this after a student has come so far and for so very long. But similarly, the mustard of medicine is often very difficult to cut and not every student really gets truly seasoned by the time he graduates.

Some physicians I know who did make it all the way through, unfortunately should have never even been allowed to lay a hand or a scalpel on a cadaver; much less to later lay either of these two tools upon the body or flesh of a live human being.



Swedish Aphorism

Vhere iss Yorgay?

Yorgay is in da bootcher shop practicin’ to be a doctor.

Vhere den iss Svengay?

Svengay is in da medical school practicin’ to be a bootcher.

Und vhere might den be Ingrid?

Ingrid is in da haystack practicin’ to be  a nurse

(Swedish Aphorism/courtesy of Michael)




The Battle of the Sexes: Part 2

Physically Speaking

One of the few things a man can truly hold over a woman’s head is the fact that in general, men because of their biology are physically stronger than women. Unfortunately for some abused women, their men like to occasionally give a live demonstration of this physical prowess in ways that result in bruises, broken bones or black and blues.

This fact of biology is why at the professional level in sports, women cannot compete in the same league with men and why there are clear-cut distinctive separations in their organizations: for example, the LPGA, the WNBA and the Women’s Professional Tennis Tour.

There are also some esthetically plain and simple “lack-of-interest” lines that will probably never be crossed, accounting for why we will not likely ever see a woman’s NFL or a female professional baseball league. Even the WNBA basketball is only marginally interesting and close to being a financial bust for its team owners.

People just have an innate penchant to preferring brute male gladiatorial strength.

The only thing that might really fly then would be a Woman’s Professional Mud Wrestling Organization (WPMWO). This is only because of the perversely innate titillation that men seem to relish when seeing half-naked dirt covered women with heaving breasts and visible camel toes duking it out in an ersatz good old-fashioned catfight.

The contrived tennis match between Billy Jean King and Bobby Riggs was a pathetic attempt to show sexual parity in sports; an event just about as interesting as watching water boil. All it revealed was that no matter the gender, given enough disparity in age anyone can beat anyone else at anything.

On that subject, Patrick McEnroe but it bluntly when he said that the number 150th ranked male tennis player could hands-down beat the number one ranked woman’s player, adding that no one would want to watch a match like that anyway, because it would only be boring. 6-love/6-love/6-love, if there even is such a thing as “Love” in tennis matches to begin with.

But promoters will try anything; so much so that the hype surrounding Michelle Wie, dubbing her the ‘Female Tiger Woods,’ and then trying to push her onto the men’s golf tour not only ended in a catastrophic non-event because she could never even make a cut; but one must also wonder how much damage this failed fiasco did to the poor 16-year-old teenager’s psyche. It took years for her to recover.

Even the so-called Champions Senior Golf Tour is barely yawn inspiring because it lacks the cache of youthful vigor; and only highlights a bunch of gray haired stars of yester-year hobbling around on shortened courses.

This is just about as exciting as it would be to watch retired baseball players come back to establish an old-timers league: 70 foot base paths, 200 yard fences and underhand pitching.

But nevertheless, there are still five great equalizers women can always fall back on in the event they are ever assaulted or beaten up by some physically stronger, abusive spouse or lover:

  1. A concussive swat with a good old-fashioned cast iron skillet.
  2. A pot of boiling water poured on the head or crotch.
  3. A head shot with a full swing 9 -iron.
  4. A Lorena Bobbitt circumcision.
  5. A blue-steel .44 magnum bullet between the eyeballs

Tennis anyone?


The Battle of the Sexes

The Battle of the Sexes 

The Battle of the Sexes is a theoretical concept applied to the constant strife occurring between the two human genders. But if it were a veritable battle, then by secondary implication it is unlikely there would ever be any successful mating and/or procreation. It is also true there would never be an ultimate gender winner, or the world would not continue its proportionately 50/50 gender split after the ensuing onslaught of “gendercide.” A nation of Amazons only exists in romanticized fictional accounts.

This in notwithstanding the fact of how many times you might hear a spouse iterate the phrase:

  • Sometimes, I just feel like killing him/her.

Closer to the truth is because as a species we have evolved with two genders, and because we do have sex, both for pleasure as well as for reproduction, the terminology “battle” really applies to the fact that women and men essentially must tolerate each other to achieve the means to both of those ends. This of course is no to demean or to degrade the concept of love.

All relationships at any level are either dominant-submissive, co-dominant, or co-submissive, such as that between a boss and an employee, between two business partners, or too exceptionally lazy co-workers. Some relationships are co-dominantly cooperative, whereas others encompass the infinite variations of extremes in the dominant-submissive domains; such as the physically beaten housewife or on the opposite side of the coin, the verbally abused, eternally henpecked husband. Outliers include those who engage in sado-masochistic practices.

What it essentially boils down to is that men and women are wired differently at the genetic level, such that relationship conflicts a-priory originates in a biologically immutable substrate. Then when personality is layered on top of the genetics; a Pandora’s Box for potential conflict irreversibly opens the window that lets in an eternal contest of wills.

Relationships that work well are those able to achieve satisfactory compromise, whereas those that fail are constantly at war.

Some couples resolve conflict and achieve harmony by compromise, capitulation or just happen to be the rarely encountered phenomenon of “soul-mates.” Some conflicts are only resolved by physically splitting up the warring parties, some resolve by self imposed emotional separations or emotional isolation, and sometimes the final resolution sadly ends with murder.

  • You mean you really meant it when you said you felt like killing me?

The best example of capitulation I can recall was when a man came into my office for a first visit. In the consultation room, his wife answered all his medical questions. When I put him in the exam room by himself and asked him some follow up queries; he told me to wait until he turned his hearing aid on.

I said

  • Do you mean to tell me you didn’t hear one word when I asked your medical history?

He replied:

  • It’s not you, doc. It’s her. Doc, I haven’t heard a word she said in over ten years. I learned a long time ago if I just nod my head up and down every time she opens her mouth that we get along fine. And if you blow my cover, I’ll just have to find another doctor.

To make matters worse, beside gender genetics and variable personalities, one also must take into consideration hormonal factors; with the only thing testosterone, estrogen and progesterone having in common is that they are all organic molecules. Women must deal with male testosterone surges, which despite a male’s massive repositories of maternal mitochondrial DNA, for some reason still cannot be suppressed; while men have to deal with the estrogen/progesterone flux that creates the unpredictable emotional imbalance of the notoriously dreaded monthly PMS; followed a potentially decade long menopause of internal thermoregulatory .

In fact, one of the most curious, self fulfilling and self defeating paradoxes about PMS is that even though every month a woman knows it is coming, for some strange reason about a week before it occurs, the hormonal combination in play at that time seems to specifically block the female brain from even remotely thinking about taking any sort of medication that might abort it.

On the flip side, the only way to eliminate testosterone rage rushes would be by castration; which is fine as long as one’s life ambition is to be a limp-dick cherub singing Soprano in the Vatican Choir or some pervert priest’s anal sex slave. Although, yet again, there are undoubtedly not just a few bored, lonely, sexually harassed or just plain pissed off housewives who wouldn’t really mind at all sending their husbands over to the genital guillotine.

My office manger’s husband, Fred, and I once decided we could take care of his wife’s PMS problem like the sedating method used on animals in The Wild Kingdom when laboratory studies or tagging is required. In so “Stalking the PMS Female” we would tag-team by waiting until late at night, then by stealth and cover of darkness creep up, slowly open the bedroom door, throw a piece of chocolate onto the center of the bed to bait the prey. Then when she came out from under the covers to get the chocolate we would shoot her with a Motrin dart fired from a safe distance with a mini-bazooka gun.

  • When I tap you on the helmet, Fred; that means she’s going for the chocolate, so “fire.”

His wife was not amused and had a much simpler answer. She said just bring chocolate home everyday for two weeks starting one week after her period is over, even if she adamantly says she doesn’t want it because she’s feeling bloated and fat.

  • No matter what. I’ll still eat it.

In truth, the only thing that men and women really have in common is that they are both Homo sapiens. The best long-term relationships between men and women, then, are those entirely predicated on friendship and compatibility with the ideal relationship being that occurring between those people who truly find that they are soul mates.

But this is by far the exception to a rule that probably occurs less than 5 percent of the time; if that much; leaving little wonder as to why the U.S. divorce rates consistently hover around fifty percent.

Falling in love is often exceptionally easy to do and even easier to justify as an expedience. Unfortunately, it often then becomes only a flimsy, transparent, poorly thought out excuse for heading into a lifetime of spousal sparring and jousting. Staying in love is the real test; a test that can be made significantly easier if the emotion is conjoined with a few ounces of proactive correct rational thought.

But therein lays the rub. Emotion has nothing to do with logic and ergo the tiresome but sagacious expostulation that “Love is blind.” Why stop there and not add in the “Deaf and Dumb,” too?

The problem is that too many people mistake love for the myriad factors having nothing at all to do with it as an emotion; which can be summarized in part by the following short list of caveats:

Do not mistake sex for love.

Do not mistake money for love.

Do not mistake superficial physical attraction for love.

Do not mistake pity for love.

Do not mistake nostalgia for love.

Worst of all do not fall into the trap of “The Salvation Army Complex;” in which love is mistaken for the ability to save someone from a self-destructive behavior; and then attempt to change them for the better. The latter is why the ex-spouse of an alcoholic will marry another one or the idiotic rationale that the drug addict will change simply because of the juxtaposed angelic aura of the non-addicted partner.

Then there is the “Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome” in which love becomes linked to societal rebellion, accounting for why some women are especially prone to fall in love with bad boy criminals who ruin their lives or help them make their way to jail alongside them. Or also why some men believe that women of notorious sexual reputation, proclivities or persuasion will bring them the bliss they feel to be missing at home.

Nearly everyone is also aware of at least one situation in which: the rich old codger who in either denying his own mortality or in flaunting his wealth hunts down a trophy bride; that gold digging woman who marries the old coot while she alternates having illicit sexual liaisons with prayers for his expedited death. This is akin to the self-centered pedagogue who props up his insecure ego by wedding the Pygmalion student; the father who marries someone who reminds him of his daughter or vice versa; or the middle aged female Cougar who attempts to retrieve her evaporating youth in the arms of the pseudo-flattering sexual boy toy.

I can speak with a certain authority on this subject because I have violated just about every one of my own caveats. And even though I think I finally got it right when I married my second wife; when we do have a fight, which gets me really pissed off, I all but abandon rational thought by boiling the problem down to the emotionally simple irrational fact that no matter what:

Women simply do not at all think the same way that normal people do.

My misogynist loan shark friend was less kind in his view of the Battle of the Sexes and put it in a simpler nutshell when he would opine that there is one rule in life that he could absolutely guarantee is a rule without a single exception:

If it has tits or tires you are inevitably going to have trouble with it.

That certainly may be true. But it still does not explain the other countervailing but paradoxically axiomatic truth that given enough time overall, women always seem to win the battle of emotional attrition and consistently wind up getting just whatever it is that they ever seem to want.

That is because they go by another rule without exception:

  • If you can’t nag them to death, drop back, assume the fetal position, start to cry and then if that doesn’t work either, no matter what else, just say ‘no’ to sex. 




Let us put men and women together

See which one is smarter

Some say men, but I say no

The women got the men like a puppet show

It ain’t me, but the people who say

The men are leading the women astray

But I say that the women today

Are smarter than the men in every way

That’s right, the women are smarter

That’s right, the women are smarter

That’s right, the women are smarter

The women are smarter than the men today

(Norman Span)

(Cartoon/ Unknown artist: may violate copyrights)

A facetious look at the genetic difference between Men and Women

The Shopping Gene 

Women (XX) have more DNA than men (XY), which is probably why women so often feel there is something considerably lacking in their male counterparts; especially so when it comes to boyfriends or husbands.

This is because there is more genetic material in the little extra leg on the X chromosome than in the Y chromosome.

Paradoxically, however, from a mother’s point of view, sons fall into a specially exempted category of male: the Favorite.

As a countervailing argument, men could claim that it is all this extra genetic material that makes women tend to drive them up the wall and equally why men will never be able to completely understand them.

Again however, many daughters are also exempted by the special rules that apply to being: Daddy’s Little Girl.

I used to tell my office manger that all the things causing men to complain about the female gender is located on that unbalanced extra leg of the second X chromosome, a place where we can always look to find such things as:

  • X: I need to go shopping.
  • Y: Again? But you just went yesterday.
  • X: My clothes still don’t match


  • X: Here’s your list of chores.
  • Y: More?


  • X: Why won’t you ever go shopping with me?
  • Y: I have too many chores


  • X: We need a bigger house.
  • Y: Why? You hate to clean this one.
  • X: Then we’ll have to get a maid.


  • X: Let’s re-paint the bathroom.
  • Y: Again?


  • X: Let’s re-paint the bathroom
  • Y: You mean today?


  • X: We need another vacation.
  • Y: What? We didn’t even unpack yet from the last one.


  •  X: My mother is coming over for dinner.
    • Y: Again? But she was just here yesterday.
    • X: You hate my mother and I hate you for hating her.
    • Y: Not really. It’s just like an additive drug. Small doses are always OK. Not over doses.


  •    X:  I need a new car.
    • Y: Why?
    • X: I just wrecked the new one.
    • Y: Again?
    • X: You didn’t even ask if I was hurt.
    • Y: Obviously not.
    • X: You could care less. You even love your dog more than you love me.
    • Y:  You bought the dog, then told me it would be not only be therapeutic for my depression, but it would always be “Ours to keep and love forever.” Capital O.

• X: I need some new shoes.
• Y: Fifty pairs aren’t enough?
• X: Yes. But none of them match my new clothes

• X: But you just played golf yesterday.
• Y: Uh oh. Hand over the chores list.

• X: Not tonight. I have a headache.
• Y: Again? You just had one yesterday.
• X: You already know they can last for weeks

• X: What do you mean, what do I mean?
• Y: Uh oh.

• X: Do we have any chocolate?
• Y: Uh oh.
• X: Why did you say that? Uh oh. It drives me crazy.
• Y: Because Choc-o-late is how I spell PMS

She told me this was a completely misogynist view of the world, that there was definitely something lacking all right, but only in my logic and not in the lost piece of Y DNA. Then, because we just had a patient cancellation, she suggested I should take her out to lunch.

She said the restaurant with the double chocolate mousse cake would do just fine.

Realizing my timing was not in synch with the female lunar cycle, which on certain specific days will automatically relegate humor to the back burner; in quickly absorbing the hint that it had been my misfortune to pick the wrong day of that particular month to test out my new theory, I mustered a cheesy little smile and said;

  • OK. And I’ll drive too.



Too much                                       Too little


Too late


© Queens University of Charlotte



The Genetics of our Founding Father

Our Founding Father 

Women participating in the U.S. female liberation movement always deplore the macho or masculine undercurrents attached to our western ways of thinking.

After all, it is a man’s world, is it not? However, there are two things that might make them feel better: Taking a hard look at Radical Muslim treatment of women instead; and boning up on several unique facts about human genetics.

First, even though it is the male sperm that determines gender, it is the female of the species that determines whether one has sex in the first place. If a woman is not interested, there is no way in hell you will ever be able to get into her pants; unless by brute force; which happens to be a felony.

Secondly, all of us have only maternal DNA in our mitochondria, the small intracellular particles that house the engines that drive cellular metabolism. This means we can all trace ourselves back to the ‘original mother,’ Eve, so like it or not, we all have a huge genetic repository that should make it infinitely easier for men to identify with their feminine side. So, it’s O.K. guys. When those feminine urges sometimes overpower your thinking, you don’t have to keep fighting them off. And yes, it is even all right to occasionally cry.

Third; female eggs (X) control fertility, while male sperm (X or Y) controls gender. XY is a male and XX is a female. XXY can exist, but YY cannot.

The chromosomal pattern of YY is not genetically possible which is fortunate for all of us then, because this guy would undoubtedly be a real prick, or possibly just have two of them.

  • Mommy, why does Johnny’s head look like a banana?
  • How many times do I have to tell you he’s one of those psychotic in-bred peckerheads?

Last, but not least, George Washington, is felt to have had Klinefelter’s Syndrome, a genetic anomaly that gave him a chromosomal pattern of XXY.

This pattern results in a large, round, soft, effeminate looking male with smooth skin, little facial hair, large breasts, and a small penis attached to shrunken infertile testicles; all of which may account for why Washington never had children. The overall appearance of a Klinefelter victim roughly resembles that of the Pillsbury Doughboy.

This genetic mishap may also account for Washington’s well balanced, undistracted thinking and why his even-handed temperament prevailed as he provided inspiration during the darkest days of the American Revolution.

He did not have to worry too much about sexual urges with their proclivity to impulsive action, and unlike Santa Anna, was not likely to have been caught off guard in  Sam Houston’s ambush while being cavalierly distracted with his pants down, bedding a mixed-race slave girl.

Washington rather, probably spent the winter at Valley Forge curled up with a good book.

Perhaps then, and because there is a modern wave of philosophy dedicated to correctly, or to  incorrectly revise history or in general to debunk the mythology of history, it would not be entirely inappropriate to begin the modern history of the United States by proposing that George Washington was not only the Father of his country, but that he was also its Mother as well.


Poor George. The big gun works fine but the little one only shoots blanks

Portrait from Lee Family digital archive


The Strange Prophecy of Tiger Woods

A Strange Prophecy 

I took golf lessons over a period of years from a teaching professional, Bob Joyce, whose family has a great legacy in the game; including the fact that his brother played on tour.

In 1997, early in Tiger Woods career, after he had just won his first Master’s Tournament, I was being tutored on the driving range when I paused to ask Bob:

  • So, looks as though Tiger may turn out to be the greatest player ever. Might even surpass Nicklaus. What could possibly stand in his way?
  • Two things. First, because his swing is so torqued and ferocious, he might injure his back. In fact, that’s probably why he only plays about 26 events a year. Needs to give it a rest.
  • What else, then?

Bob stepped back, made a small circular tunnel with his left hand, then poked his right middle finger in and out of the ersatz vagina as he simultaneously said:

  • Pussy

He was partially wrong about the first orthopedic disability, which turned out to be his left knee; before the back soon followed.

He was also dead wrong by not using the plural of the vernacular female anatomical descriptor.

Tiger Woods and Racial Bias

Tiger Woods 

Tiger Woods is one of the best athletes in modern history. This is despite the fact of many  people finding it hard to believe that hitting a small white stationary ball with a long stick requires any talent whatsoever.

If you happen to be one of those individuals who do not believe golf  to be the most difficult game on earth, try it yourself. The game has simply too many subcomponents to be easily mastered.

In fact, professional golfers have been proven to have the best eye-hand coordination of any other elite athletes; a bet you will surely lose if you gamble over sports trivia and do not know this fact. Tennis players and major league batters come in as close seconds. One sure bet however would be to lay odds that a soccer player wins eye-foot coordination “hands down,” so to speak. Thus, don’t pick the Olympic ice skater as your final answer to that query.

Tiger Woods also happens to be one of the most racially complex individuals to have gained modern notoriety as his mixture is one fourth each: Chinese, Thai, and Afro-American then one eighth each: Dutch (yes, White), and American Indian.

Early in his golf career, because of naïve stupidity, Woods suffered abusive insults from spectators who could not accept the fact that a person of color was breaking down the barriers of the last bastion of the White Man’s recreational sporting domain. Bigots in the galleries would call him “nigger” and occasionally threaten his life.

What could possibly happen next after all, if non-Whites started playing golf? The next horrifying thing would be them clambering to join private clubs or possibly worse, applying to colleges like Harvard University. Quell domage! It would be the absolute end to White culture, as we know it.

These same people who were pre-biased, being not remotely curious enough to discover the truth, were unaware that Tiger himself, in never even claiming the Afro-American as being his own, not only referred to himself instead as being “Cablinasian,” but then went on to marry a white woman of Dutch South African ancestry. Ironic, is it not that she descended from the same jolly lot that brought us the fabulous concept of Apartheid?

In professional sports, the extreme of retrenched recidivistic bias was exemplified by the fact that baseball started out with segregated Negro leagues.

Even in the modern era, the NFL refused to allow the Super Bowl to take place in Arizona until that state formally recognized Martin Luther King Day as a holiday while the USGA had to firmly refuse to allow The Shinnecock Golf Club to host the club’s first Open in 1987 until it agreed to admit at least one black member. Arizona, being the last state in the union to do so, reluctantly capitulated and sanctioned the holiday, as did Shinnecock, which in admitting a wealthy black man living somewhere in the south, knew he would not be too likely to travel north and pollute the hallowed grounds with his actual physical presence.

Even bigotry, I guess can be bought off if the cost is too high or if the price is right. That is Super Bowl football and Men’s U.S. Golf Open = Megabucks.

The real irony about Shinnecock is that the club is named after a local Indian tribe that originally owned the land it is on, but which also succumbed to the same fate of piracy, genocide and germicide that laid waste the rest of Native Americans. In the case of the Shinnecocks, there was additional attrition because so many of the tribe’s men were lost at sea in the whaling days of the 1800s, that local black slaves took their places and married the widowed squaws; because no one else would have them.

When we were kids we sniggered as we referred to them Nindians. Then as a final insult, the golf club did allow the tribe to participate, but only as being grounds workers and greens keepers. As a descendent Shinnecock you could work under the club logo and banner of a cameo Chief in a headdress bonnet, but you could never be considered as a potential member.


Geneticists are quite a bit more practical. They happen to know that the greater the genetic variability in a species, the less likelihood there is for unfavorable mutations and conversely the more likelihood for those favorable ones.

Also, the farther apart genetically, the less likelihood there is for unfavorable dominant or recessive characteristics to filter down in progeny. Ashkenazi Jews, whose entire ancestral DNA can be traced back to only four women, are, for example, particularly susceptible to about 15 genetic metabolic catastrophes or disease susceptibilities, such as Gaucher’s, Tay-Sachs, Ulcerative colitis, and the Niemann-Pick disorder.

Tiger Woods then, exemplifies the fact that human racial admixture is not necessarily the horrible mephitic, pestilential human catastrophe portrayed in the propagandist annals of viperous American White Supremacists.

In fact, I defy anyone to prove to some small degree that they are not remotely racially polluted and therefore genetically as pure as the driven snow. I am sure there is some degree of mutt or mulatto in all of us just as I also defy anyone to walk up to Tiger Woods today and tell him to his face that he is nothing more than just a common “nigger.” Just the opposite, in fact now anywhere he plays, instead of bigoted jeers, he always receives enormous accolades because skill trumps bigotry.

Yet there always seems to be at least one congenital idiot near the tee box , usually an obnoxious inebriated Caucasian, who feels compelled to shout just as the ball leaves the driver: “You’re the man.” This person is also consanguineously related to the same morons at every tee or green who can’t let any shot go by, whether it is a drive on a 600-yard par five or a forty-foot putt, without screaming: “Get in the hole.”

Although I am not necessarily advocating human interracial breeding, it is interesting to postulate how much better off or possibly even superior the human stock would be, how similar we all might look, and especially how much less hatred would result from a little more genetic mixing. It is interesting to postulate exactly what a racially balanced, genetically blended human being might look like. Not too shabby, would be my guess.

In fact, I find it ironic that having lived in an era when some of my classmates in grade school quietly derided blacks for the color of their skin or the size of their lips that now the year-round sun tan and silicone lip implants have become the current standard for Caucasian beauty.

Contrary in fact to what Hitler believed, the human superman then would be derived not from a limited interbred line of highly selected Aryans, who would eventually succumb to inbred genetic problems like those encountered by the Ashkenazi, but rather would derive from a perfect blend of all the available human DNA on planet earth.


Better yet: does it really matter?


Shinnecock Golf Club logo
© Scintific American: Cover December 2003

The Genetics of Bigotry

The Genetics of Bigotry 

Here is a good illustration of how bigotry operates at the genetic level.

When Spain conquered Mexico there were three races that came into play: Indigenous Indian, European Caucasian, and a few Negro slaves brought along by the Conquistadors. Later in time a few Chinese got snuck into the mix as well.

In general, and although to this day there remain intact gene pools in all three racial blood lines, there was enough interbreeding over the next twenty generations after the conquest to have created four large groups of people living in the country; distributed on a statistical basis as follows;

Caucasian:     9%

Mestizo:       60%

Indian:         30%

Other:             1%

Mestizos is the term applicable to any admixture of Caucasian with Indian; or throw in a little Negro here and there if you so desire, and you get a factor that really confounds the whole schemata.

Also generally speaking, it is the Caucasian Mexicans as descendants of Aragon and Castilian Spaniards, who own, control and rule the country. Thus, whereas the Mestizo largely makes up the working class, the 10 million or so Indians, who originally owned the land are largely consigned to being impoverished.

This makes the social hierarchy like the Communist model in which there is a very small ruling elite, a large slave labor pool, and then those who are expendable.

Therefore, it was an ignominious fate if your Caucasian ancestor, probably a rutting male, had sex with your Indian ancestor, accounting for why you now have to work for a living. However, this is not nearly as bad as if he had not so procreated because then you would be pure Indian and have nothing at all; not even a job.

In this social structure, you would even be better off if you happened to have a little black slave blood.

Based on the percentages it appears that either there must have a lot of rutting; or in the purely practical terms; if being a Spanish soldier so far away from Aragon, for such a long time, and even though your own mother back home would hardly approve, the rule of the day would undoubtedly have been “any port in a storm.”

Trust me on this one, even the most extremely bigoted white supremacist would probably take a black woman to bed, if after a nuclear holocaust, she happened to be the only female left on earth. Adam and Yvonne.

And although the general term that applied to this White, Indian and Black admixing hybridization came to be known as “mulato” or “little mule,” it is still the case that in the generic category of mulato there are yet perhaps as many as thirteen further subdivisions based on how much of what mix you happen to have as well as sometimes whether the mixing came from your father or your mother.

  • Peninsular (gachupin): Spanish-Spanish; both parents born in Spain
  • Criollo (Espanol): Spanish-Spanish; lower status; one parent born in Mexico
  • Limpio (clean origin): Both parents Spanish but cannot be proved
  • Mestizo: Spanish-Indian
  • Mulato: Spanish-Negro
  • Coyote: Mulato-Indian
  • Calpamulato: Indain-Mulato
  • Zambo grifo: Mulato-Negro
  • Galfarro: Negro-Mulato
  • Zambaigo: Indian-Chinese
  • Cambujo: Chinese-Indian
  • Lobo (wolf): Indian-Negro
  • Zambo (lascivious monkey): Negro-Indian; ergo little black Sambo

With dogs, it’s considerably easier.

If not a thoroughbred of any kind, you simply become a “mutt.”

Texans in the 1800s also had a simpler nomenclature. For example, a person who is one-eighth Indian or Negro would be known as an Octoroon, and would have such light skin color as well as such other Caucasian attributes as to possibly pass off in the highest castes of Mexican society.

But for the most part currently, the Mexican social system is a rigidly hierarchical one creating the many social and economic boundaries that cannot be crossed among the various castes.

This is not as bad as in India, however, where a truly rigid caste system exists and the where the quintessential height of genetic bigotry places its bottom dwellers in the relatively insulting group known as “Untouchables.”

  • But how do they mate, then, if they cannot touch or be touched?
  • That’s the point. We don’t want them to.



Better                                                            Worse

In Mexico, being not the least bit ashamed of showing rank and reminding you of your exact place in the social hierarchy, they even paint it on the walls.



The Genetics of Race

The Genetics of Race 

Life on earth is a mysterious miracle. Fundamentalist Christian Creationists would like you to believe that God somehow played a hand in it. However, the origins of life are probably quite a bit more complicated possibly only the result of a series of giant accidental organic chemistry experiments that played themselves out on Earth over a period of billions of years.

Some of those more miraculous experiments were the organization of molecules into cells, the appearance of DNA, the ability of cells to grow and reproduce, accompanied by the appearance of aerobic metabolism.

Miraculous: yes. Driven by a supreme being who resembles a snow white haired old Protestant dressed in a flowing white robe: probably not.

Additionally, life itself would be nothing if not for the organized molecules that allow for procreation of a species by conjugal complementary reproduction; the genes.

Whatever the case may be, all living Animals and Plants are categorized by a taxonomy system that logically organizes them into groups and then ultimately labels them by Latin nomenclature.

Life: Domain: Kingdom: Phylum: Class: Order: Family: Genus: Species.

Individual animals as we know them have both Latin names as designated by their genus and species as well as by common names that are given to them by language vernaculars.

For example, the Horse is designated by the Latin: Equus caballus, ergo the Spanish term for cowboy being one who rides one: Caballero.

Although closely related, the far less intelligent Donkey is a separate species that is designated by the Latin Equus asinus, ergo the vernacular terminology designating a person who behaves stupidly as being an ass or as being asinine.

Members of the same species can successfully mate and reproduce, whereas members of different species cannot, with certain rare exceptions.

Bears (Genus: Ursus), which are commonly referred to as polar (white), brown (grizzly) and black are three separate species; respectively martimus, arctos, and americanus; none of which can interbreed one with the other. Nor do they have any desire to do so.

Interestingly, the Horse and the Donkey are closely enough related at both the genetic and the pheromone levels, interbreeding can actually occur, but within certain genetic proscriptions.

A male donkey, attracted by both the sight and smell, can mate with a female horse resulting in a hybrid offspring designated in the Latin as: Equus mulus, otherwise commonly known as the Mule. In fact, the Latin word for hybrid, the scientific designation for the offspring of two different species, is “mulus.”

However, because a Horse has 64 chromosomes and a Donkey has 63 chromosomes, the price to pay for this breeding is the fact a Mule being a sterile male with very little sex drive.

There is an upside to this procreation in that the mule is less distractible or irascible than a horse, which makes for a better pack animal; but with downside being that he cannot successfully mate another mule.

A serial rapist would be just as equanimous and far less dangerous if he too had his balls cut off. Most of them already seem to being lacking a sanity gene anyway.

Chromosomes happen to enjoy traveling in paired numbers and if not, then the result of breeding may either be a nonevent or an aberration.

In the extremely rare case of the above offspring between a male donkey and a Mare being a female, we then do not have a Mule, but rather a Molly.

Breeding between a male Horse and a female Donkey is rarely if ever successful and if so results in a hybrid known as a Hinny. Even rarer yet is the successful breeding between a male Horse and a Molly.


In general, different species do not even attempt interbreeding and have no genetic programming that even allows for it to happen. At this level, animals are smart enough to know that if something simply does not smell right, or even if it did, would probably not go right, so they don’t even attempt it.

Maybe a “horse’s ass” then is nothing better than a deserving sobriquet applied to anyone attempting the impossible in a situation in which he should know better than to even try. And although a male dog humping on a human leg would equally apply as being completely asinine; it does support the fact that there is always an exception to most rules. This must discount bestiality; which is categorized as only being a sexual perversion.

As for these humans with far out sexual proclivities, and who rationally ignore both pheromones as well as biology as for example a woman who enjoys having sex with a horse, at least she has no need not worry about conception; although the mythological Satyr may be some ancient Greek’s imaginative rendition of what that genetically impossible offspring might indeed resemble. Unfortunately for me, this oddity then became attached to my sun sign, Sagittarius.

Then again, the human species may be the only one other than a sheep itself; in which a man might try to mount a sheep, while the domesticated male dog is often known to randomly attempt to mate with human legs.

The Latin scientific terminology designates all human beings as: Homo sapiens. Race is a scientific term applied to a finer tuning of species that only means that subspecies exist within a larger context. However, it is at this very level of sub-categorization where all the trouble begins. As a side bar, since Homo sapiens literally means “Wise man,” perhaps the subspecies should be expanded to include Homo stultus or “Stupid man.”

When speaking of genetics, it is useful to review a few technical definitions. Chromosomes carry all our genetic material in the form of DNA. All cells in any given species have identical chromosomes and the identical number of chromosomes; which occur in pairs. For human beings, the number of chromosomes is twenty-three pairs.

When mating occurs, each parent contributes half the complement of chromosomes in the germ cells, meaning each egg and each sperm cell carries only half of the twenty-three chromosomal alleles. Gender is determined by unique sex chromosomes originating in the sperm cells, such that a sperm cell can carry either a female X chromosome or a male Y chromosome.

All eggs are X, such that if an X sperm combines with the X egg the result is a girl XX and if a Y sperm combines with the X egg, the result is a boy XY.

Chromosomes contain DNA, the material that codes for protein production in the cell and that thus directs all genetic development of the individual person.

DNA (Deoxyribonucleic acid) molecules are long helical double strands of organized molecules that consist of sugars and amino acids.

Each binary pair of necleo-peptides is known as a gene base pair.


Every person’s DNA makeup is unique, which is why criminologists can do a molecular fingerprint on an individual accused of leaving some DNA behind at the scene of the crime, by subsequently matching it to that person.A gene is a hereditary unit of a sequence of DNA base pairs that can be of varying lengths along the DNA strand, although not all DNA sequences are active as genes.


For example, human beings have 3 billion DNA base pairs, but only 30,000 genes, meaning that much of the genetic material does not actually express itself. This also means that individual genes can code for the synthesis of the several hundred thousand protein messengers that make up all our intrinsic biology.

Many hereditary diseases or for example, a predisposition for an individual to develop cancer, is rooted at the level of individual variations or defects in certain genes.

Stem cell research focuses on the ability to manipulate individual genes to eliminate these defects, or to supply an afflicted person with some otherwise missing ingredients.

Familial inbreeding or long term inbreeding of certain small clusters of species can often result in genetic catastrophes, because certain genetic defects tend to become unmasked if two closely related individuals both carry the same defect. Cystic fibrosis and hemophilia might qualify as examples.

This is also why having chromosomes lining up as pairs, with one originating from each parent, minimizes the risk of this happening in general. It is analogous to two genetic heads being better than one and may explain in part the beneficial advantage of the evolution of binary sex in the first place.

It would be a very dull world indeed if we could all reproduce ourselves agamously like budding yeast; although I have met a few individuals who are so egocentrically narcissistic, they would not at all mind being alone on this planet, or with a group of personal identical clones to serve as being their best and closest friends.

This would make for fabulous and stimulating dinner conversations:

  • Don’t you agree?
  • Yes, of course. You know I always agree with us.

Or with that ability to self reproduce we would then have a planet filled with only Adams and only Eves; or worse yet a planet filled only with XXYYs:

Not man. Not woman. But rather something in between, perhaps akin to that transgender entity, otherwise come to be known as: The Chick-With-A-Dick.

Ergo, proscriptions against consanguineous marriage, were not something made up by a bunch of ancient human moralists, but rather came about as the result of generations of empirical observations as to the disastrous outcomes of people breeding with their first-degree relatives. This is also from whence we come by those jokes about Hillbilly mating and the only good reason my Aunt Jean did not want me to become romantically involved with my cousin Beverly.

We already had enough idiots in our family.

Perhaps then Moses should have added a thirteenth Commandment:

  • Thou shalt not marry thy sister’s sister.

If someone had pointed this one out to some of the debauched, consanguineously oriented Roman Emperors,  enough familial dementia may have been prevented to save an entire empire.

However, this principle applies to all species, and provides the rationale explaining why there is rightfully so much concern about shrinking, limited gene pools existing for currently endangered animal species. The result of the contracted gene pool is too much inbreeding and subsequently too many genetically deficient and/or non-viable offspring.

In reference to humans, we are designated Genus: Homo. Species: sapiens

The human species also evolved along three or possibly four racial lines that for purposes of stupidly simplistic clarity can be called by the colors white, red, yellow and brown. For you purists out there Anthropologists designate us as Caucasian, Asian or Mongoloid, Negroid or Black and Australoid.

The essential point of the argument, however is that because we are all in the same species, we can and do successfully interbreed with each other, whatever personal bias one might have against mixed race marriage.

The human gene pool happens to be racially insensitive, is not biased and is thus why we generically tend to refer to all humans on the planet as being part of the “Human Race.”

At the genetic level, all human beings differ from one another by a total of 0.1% of their total DNA make up, meaning by only a total of 30 genes out of 3 billion DNA base pairs and 23,000 coding gene sequences. This variation expresses itself in minor racial differences such as skin color, epicanthic eye folds, hair color and texture, eye color and all the very few other superficial differences that ultimately lead us as racial subgroups to single these things out for targeted hatred.

We are all 99.9% purely the same.

Better than Ivory soap.

But it is that 0.1% which makes us a little different, one from the next, that is sadly, the only thing accounting for 100% of all cultural, religious,  and racial hatreds.


If you hate a person you hate something in him that is a part of yourself.

What isn’t a part of ourselves does not disturb us.

(Hermann Hesse)

Ivory Soap
 Gene base pair and DNA gene sequence: Wikipedia
Human genome: Wikipedia