ndab Ah Yes, Medical School: March 2006

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Ask The Fake Doctor 5

Judging by the increasing hostility among the most recent batch of comments I have received, and drawing upon my skillful clinical acumen, I have concluded that the main reason for this newfound anger is that I have for too long neglected you, the reader, hogging this forum for my own ramblings, misgivings, and false pretenses without giving you the opportunity to sound off. It is with this humbling admission that I offer you this, my latest attempt to answer your questions about medical school, life, the world’s mysteries, and so on. Please enjoy, and feel free to send me your questions, comments, and concerns, however off the wall, and I’ll try my best to answer them…uhh, when I’m not saving all those lives.

A few quick points before I begin:
1. I appreciate the outpouring of concern regarding my drinking habits. Even more so, I appreciate those of you who have chosen to admonish my relatively mild drinking habits, even when I’m clearly just making fun of myself while I do this. Christ, people, it’s a freaking joke.
2. Thanks for all the comments regarding scrubs vs. nice clothes. Based on the wide range of opinions, I came to absolutely no conclusion whatsoever. Strong work, everyone. I also learned that I look hot either way, so I guess I’ll just do what my boss says.
3. This post is long. Apologies to attention spans, everywhere.

By the way, I’m totally fucking wasted right now.

I had to google around a little bit to find the post on your blog where he mentions him name, but whatever happened to that guy Kevin Jordan? Did you post an update about him? Did I miss it?

Kevin, where have you gone? Alas, I have not heard from Mr. Jordan since November, 2005, and can only assume he successfully scored with that Jewish girl of his dreams (no joke) he was telling me about and has not left her bedroom since.

How do you manage to maintain your sense of cool and not lose your temper? How did you not respond "'Honey then what the hell DO you do around here??" I suppose that's why I never considered medicine as a career. Too many people (idiots) to deal with!

The only way I can maintain any semblance of cool, and believe me, there’s not much cool there, is by finding my own personal happy place (thanks, Happy). It conveniently turns out that this happy place is pretty simple to find. The way you find it is by looking at your surroundings. If you do not see patients, doctors, nurses, or anything resembling a hospital, then congratulations, you’ve found my happy place. This happy place is sometimes augmented by the occasional addition of a scantily clad Natalie Portman lying on a couch waiting for me, depending on my state of consciousness. But, umm, ya, as long as it’s somewhere not in the hospital that will be swell. I think this might be a problem.

Someone once told me that one can detach a scrotum with only a few pounds of pressure. Is this true? I've been threatening my future husband with it from time to time, but would like to know if it works in case one day i really need to use it.

I’m not sure what’s more disconcerting, the fact that someone out there is seriously thinking about this issue and how to potentially apply it to her future husband, or that someone out there actually thinks I have managed to detach my own balls and can therefore speak from personal experience in detailing how much effort it takes to remove one’s scrotum.

But just in case you’re curious, turns out it doesn’t hurt at all.

You like big butts? And you still can't get a girlfriend? Huh...

I'm curious as to why the girls you (don't quite manage to) date have to be Jewish?

Let’s see if this clears things up. I love burritos. Specifically, I love Baja Fresh burritos (Especially the bean and cheese with black beans, pico de gallo, green sauce…wait, what was the question? Oh, right.). I really love these burritos. I’ve grown up with these burritos, I know them, am comfortable ordering them, know their consistency, their smell, their texture, their taste, etc. These burritos are comfortable with me, too (although the last few burritos I’ve eaten have given me a fair amount of heartburn). Now, I also know that there are many other types of burritos out there, and I’ve heard great things about them. I’m sure they’re great, and the one’s I’ve encountered in the past have all been special in their own right. But, when it comes down to it, they are not Baja Fresh burritos. And that’s why I only date Jewish girls.

Oh, and if my parents caught me at a Chipotle they’d kill me.

(Feel free to take this analogy as far as you’d like. For instance, you can go with “The problem with you, Fake Doctor, is that you just don’t know how to handle a burrito, much less a Baja Fresh burrito", “There’s a high probability that burrito is going to give you a heart attack in 30 years”, or even “I wonder which type of burrito gives you more gas”.)

What was that last comment "Christ..." . I thought you were Jewish! Maybe u can stop substituting my Saviour for some other word when you think of swearing!

I would, but other substations just don’t have that same zing. For example, “Buddha, I can’t believe I just sank to this pathetic level for a joke!” or “Krishna, that dog just took a shit on our lawn!”. ‘Nuff said.

Why are most doctors such social dipshits? No, don't answer that, I already know. It's the profession.

Thanks. For a more detailed exploration of this topic, I recommend Ah Yes, Medical School, year’s 1-3.

Oh, come on, people. Do you honestly think this frat boy is for real? This is all just way too over the top. Someone is really getting his rocks off with all the attention. I bet this whole blog is a fake.

Sorry, but I think this guy is in need of some tough love. Up until now his 'tude probably hasn't been a huge issue because his patients are a captive audience, so to speak. Real-world patients are unfortunately going to be a lot less tolerant of his brand of humor, especially when it is directed at them. And some of them are going to complain, and hospital and clinic administrators tend to take notice of these things.

If you think standardized patients are a boring waste of your time, I seriously doubt you are ready to be unleashed on real live patients. Sorry, I am not a member of your fan club. Your humor is sophomoric and often loaded with hostility. And please tell me you were kidding about getting drunk halfway through the day. You have some issues. Seriously.

Look, I have always welcomed all comments, whether they be flattering, critical, or somewhere in between. So I’m fine with people who read this blog and conclude that I’m insensitive, dangerous, a loser, unsuitable as a doctor, a liar, pathetic, rude, a raging alcoholic, and so on. You may even think I've made all of this up, and that I'm actually a 14 year old girl from suburban New Hampshire passing the time away writing this when I'm not gossiping about boys, which is fine. But “sophomoric humor”? Ouch, that one really hurts. I mean, I’m trying really hard here. In the past year alone I’ve touched on major philosophical bodies of thought like the mind-body problem and existensialism, I’ve explored evolution and linguistics, and I’ve commented on some of the major social issues of the day, like sanitation, geographical squabbles, and necrophilia. I guess what this feedback is telling me is that I’ll just have to try harder in the future, blocking out all things gross and instead focusing on a different, cleaner, less frat-ish brand of humor.

Oh, and by the way, if you’re ever looking for a good proctologist to remove the rod that is firmly entrenched up your ass, I’ve got a good one for you. I mean, honestly, “frat boy”? Those of you who know me in person know how hilarious that is.

Hey…just wondering, is it ethical to post what you just posted?

Let’s try to apply Occam’s Razor (is that better, Anonymous?) to this question. I either a) deceptively whipped out my camera in a crowded ER full of my superiors and snapped a photo of my patient’s massively swollen scrotum without either the patient or my superiors noticing, knowing full well that I was violating not only every privacy law ever written but also any shriveling remains of my internal morals and ethics, or b) I typed “swollen scrotum” into Google image search and found something that rather nicely resembled my patient’s scrotum for use in this post. I’ll let you decide. (Thanks to the commenter who hinted at this similar conclusion a little while ago.)

Can you make a post about all the medical vocab you've picked up over the years? I really doubt you used the word "decompensate" before medical school. I'm going to med school in the fall, and I've always been intimidated by the arcane vocabulary of my med student friends.
-D.G., New Haven, Conn.

Here are a few fun words and phrases I’ve picked up so far, and I’ll try to come up with something more complete in the future:
1. FLK (“funny looking kid”) - Apparently you can’t write “retard” in a progress note,. but somehow this is OK.
2. Erythematous – “Red” just ain’t gonna cut it anymore.
3. FOS (“full of shit”) - This handy acronym works equally well in GI and psychiatry clinics.
4. GI Rounds – If you ever hear that expression, it means the doctors are all about to leave you sitting around in clinic for another 30 minutes while they go out for lunch.
5. Liver Rounds –If you ever hear that expression, it means the doctors are all about to leave you sitting around in clinic for another 30 minutes while they go get wasted. They may or may not return.
6. UBS (“Ugly Baby Syndrome”) - No one’s going to say it to your face, but when we see an ugly baby, we have to say something.
7. Pedunculated – It means “having a stalk” in reference to polyps, etc., but who cares? I put it hear because I like saying “pedunculated”.

And, in conclusion, a tie:

I love how you must, no matter what, throw in some line of how sex deprived you are into every article you write. You’re a funny guy- you really are, but these repeated one-liners about girls sending you naked pictures are getting old. Has it ever worked? … Even once? Do yourself a favor and do either of the following: steal some kind of drug from the hospital and use it to date rape either a fellow medical student/nurse/or your roommate. Or B.) Take a walk down to the psyche ward and force yourself on some bi-polar teen, who’s allegations would simply be dismissed.

Can you be gay for me please?

I love my readers.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

A Snip In Time

For one young man, this day was bound to be monumental. Born only hours earlier, we encountered this wily gentleman, wide-eyed and still full of the zest of life all newborns share, in the post-partum wards of the hospital this morning. We congratulated the mom for a moment, and then proceeded with the work of the day. Following my family medicine attending out of the room, we rolled Little Timmy (his real name has been changed to protect the identity of…well…you’ll see) away from the safe confines of his mother’s arms and into a room labeled “Special Procedures”. After closing the door, we placed Little Timmy on a special table designed for newborns, complete with straps to hold down his arms and legs should he decide to make any sudden movements. I looked at him and he looked at me, still calm and complacent, his bright blue eyes moving about the room in eager anticipation for any new sights he might behold.

Hi Mr. Fake Doctor man. Golly, thanks for rolling me all the way over here. This is so neat. Everything is so new. Look, it’s my hand. Wow! Gosh, I wonder why I’m being strapped here. This is so neat!

I gently undid his special newborn diapers and exposed his penis, his phallus, his (to borrow a phrase from an orthopedic surgeon I worked with a few months ago) little dicky, and the itty bitty little scrotum that came with it. My attending handed me some alcohol swabs and a syringe full of lidocaine (numbing solution), and I vigorously rubbed the little dicky with the swabs before sticking the little needle at the two and ten o’clock positions around the base of his penis, injecting some lidocaine in each area to numb up Little Timmy’s little genitalia.

With the initial anesthesia complete, and Little Timmy complacently sucking on a sugar-coated pacifier, I put on sterile gloves and proceeded with this special procedure. I graciously poured betadine solution all over the little dicky, little scrotum, and little foreskin to completely sterilize the field. I then gracefully placed a cover sheet over the entire area, with a small circle cut out for the little dicky to stick out from. Firmly grasping the hemostat scissors with one hand and the itty bitty little dicky with the other, I calmly inserted the first pair of scissors into the space between the foreskin and the penis, clamping it (click!) on the 3 o’clock position. Bursting with confidence, I reached for the second pair of hemostat scissors and placed them in the space between the foreskin and the penis, clamping it (click!) on the 9 o’clock position. An otherwise anesthetized Little Timmy turned his eyes towards me.

Fake Doctor, you're my bestest buddy. Gee whiz, how are you doing? Wow, things are so swell here, I mean yesterday I was swimming in my own pee and today…I mean wow just look at it all! It's so great they're letting you play with me, even though you don't know what you're doing. So much excitement, so much going on, all these new peo-hey…what are you doing with those scissors? Hey. Hey! What the hell is goi-

I took the last hemostat scissors and inserted them in between the other two, at the 12 o’clock position. However, I did not clamp this pair. After ensuring that I was not actually inserting the pointed end of the scissors into the urethra (that’s the pee hole, for those of you not anatomically inclined), I opened up the scissors as wide as a I could in order to separate the foreskin from the penis as much as possible, with the goal of making the subsequent removal of said foreskin easier. I spread them wide, spread them far, spread them as far as the little foreskin wrapping the little dicky could tolerate, stretching the foreskin so far that…umm…excuse me, Dr. Attending? Eh…there’s a lot of blood squirting out. Uhh…is it supposed to bleed like that?


The attending, recognizing the rather large amounts of blood squirting out of the previous blood-free little dicky, quickly removed the scissors and retracted the foreskin to find a penis swimming in blood, with what appeared to be a rather large gaping hole at its top that was not there a moment ago. A rather large gaping hole?!? Did I just spread open this poor young man’s pee hole, deforming his previously normal penis for the remainder of his life? Had I just relegated him to a lifetime of awkward streams, of a disfigured member, of a tortured bigger little dicky no woman would ever choose to touch? Were the hopes and dreams of his previously proud parents crushed by a snip of devilish proportions? Was this child now relegated to a career as a deformed penis fetish porn star? Did I seriously just make a massive hole in a newborn boy’s penis on my first try at a circumcision? Oh, the horror! Oh, the shame! Oh, shit!

Listen motherfucker, I don’t know you, but you just cut a big hole in my penis. Remember this day, because one day, when I’m a little older, I’m going to hunt you down and FUCK YOU UP. That’s right, you heard me. It all sounds like violent screaming now, but I’m talking to you. I’m going to find you, slap you around with my two-headed deformed monster of a shlong, and then shove some scissors up your penis and see how you-

The attending, fearful about what had just transpired, pushed me aside and frantically performed the rest of the circumcision without incident, slicing away the foreskin and then reexamining the hideously deformed beast that I had just created. Meanwhile, I stood there horrified, shaken, and distraught at what had just transpired. After applying pressure for a few angst-ridden moments, she released the gauze and revealed the final product.

Underneath, she found a perfectly normal looking penis. Reexamining the little dicky, she pointed out to me that, contrary to our initial assessment, I had not in fact destroyed his manhood, but had only exposed an already torn frenulum (that little bit of skin at the bottom of a penis that is like a fin – I bet you didn’t know there was a word for that) as the source of the bleeding, something that easily mimics a far more serious condition and that is not dangerous at all.

I paused, took a deep breath, and praised any and every deity out there for making sure I didn’t completely and utterly botch my first attempt to snip out some foreskin. His itty bitty tiny little dicky would live to see another day. As we rolled Little Timmy out the door and back to his mom, I couldn’t help but notice his glare.

I'm watching you...

(P.S. Yes, this actually happened.)

Friday, March 10, 2006

Standardize Me

This morning, after suffering through yet another standardized patient experience (where we are given clinical scenarios with actors mimicking symptoms and have to do a history and physical exam while being videotaped), I...umm...well actually I went to lunch and got completely drunk. Yes, it was 12:30 PM. I then staggered back to class and buzzed my way through another two hours of lecture, marking one of the most enjoyable drunken two hour lecture experiences I have ever had (let's put aside the "Hey lets take shots of Parrot Bay at 8:30 AM before Humbio core!" fiasco of '01 for just a moment).

After all that, in my post-drunk haze I started reflecting on the whole standardized patient experience, especially since my glorious medical school crams this stuff down are throats so much that, unlike just about every other medical school I have ever heard of (all of whom end these standardized patient experiences after the second year), they actually take us away from our clinical activities as third years (full of, dare I say it, real patients with real problems) to have us chat it up with a bunch of fake patients every few weeks. Why do they do this to us? How much does this cost? Why are my actors always so damn ugly? Am I really that pasty white in real life or just on video? The list of burning questions scorched through my forehead, much like the alcohol raged through my veins. (As an aside, my high school AP English teacher would be really impressed with that imagery and metaphor. Or is it an allusion? Simile? Ah, fuck it.)

At one point it finally occurred to me that while medical students are given volumes of instructional material on how to handle standardized patients, culminating in the USMLE Step 2 CS exam that we all must pass as yet another hurdle before being able to prescribe Vicodin to each other, there is really no standardized instructions for standardized patients (I get points for irony with that one, in case you’re keeping score) to follow in their quest to educate medical students.

However, fear not, for I am here to fill that void and enlighten you shining actors and actresses, you medical school players, you fantastic guildsmen and women of the arts. All you have to do is follow a few simple rules, and you too can become a standardized patient:

1. Don't Fuck With Me - Being a standardized patient means just that: you have to be...standard. Just like everyone else. In other words, stick to the script, asshole. I don't care what they taught you about expressing your inner self at Julliard, but when it comes to stuff like this, you better just play the role you were told to play and let us do our thing. If the script calls for pneumonia, don't play heart attack. If the script says you've had back pain for 15 years from a frightening toboggan accident, don't tell me you've only had back pain for 2 months and have never had any trauma in your life. If you can't even stick to the simple character sketch you were assigned, two things will likely to happen. The first, and less important consequence, is that the administrators are going to find out that you are so poor at your craft that you cannot even handle a job as pathetic, menial, and off-Broadway as that of a standardized patient at a medical school and fire you, marking the rather timely and fortunate end to your never-promising acting career. The second, and far more damaging consequence, is that you're going to make me look like an even bigger idiot than I already am as I present the false information you told me to my attending, only to find out that this was different than what everyone else was told by their standardized patients, making me look like a massive fool who still cannot even get a story straight after 2.5 years of medical school. By the way, that means YOU, back pain lady from this morning. Remember that part in the script about the toboggan accident that you failed to mention, even after I asked about a history of trauma? Could it have been anymore obvious? Toboggan ring a bell? Stupid bitch. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

2. Fuck With Me - This rule applies to the younger actors and actresses out there, those who are aspiring to reach the greatest heights of fame, glory, and assorted endorsements as they pursue a stunning acting career, equipped with a beautiful smile, a fantastic body, and the brain of a four year old. What better way to complement these features than by pairing your fine self with a strapping young future doctor at your side? Just thought I'd throw that one out there.

3. Over-do…Joke's On You - Contrary to popular belief, this isn't Masterpiece Theatre. This isn’t even your audition for the Akron Community Center production of Rent. You're performing live, one morning only...for a few lowly medical students, being recorded on a videotape that only the medical student will ever watch (if that - lets face it, the only thing worse than going through with this nonsense is watching yourself squirm through it on television later, although I bet you could come up with a great drinking game* for this. I'm really not an alcoholic.). In other words, you can hold off on the grand gesticulations, the exquisite elocution, and the pompous posturing that has gotten you this far as an actor, and instead just keep it simple. You may be able to stay in character as you thrash wildly around the room, writhing in pain and screaming in agony, all the while hoping that someone from William Morris Agency will see your gritty and over-the-top performance and get you a role in the next Spielberg flick. But all you're going to do is make some poor schmuck like me bust out laughing at you on tape over how ridiculous you are, and no one needs to see that. Just leave the over-acting to the professionals, you know, like Al Pacino and Paris Hilton. Wait, she’s really like that?

(By the way, the title of this rule totally rhymed, in case you’re keeping score)

4. In Character - Once you portray a patient with a certain disease, you're always going to be that patient to us even if, during another session, you are portraying a different patient with a different disease. This means that if you used to be breast cancer lady and now you are bladder incontinence lady, expect some moron from my class to ask you how your radiation and chemo have been going for no good reason. More importantly, this also means that if we see you on the street, we are, without a doubt, going to point at you and laugh. Yes, I'm referring to you, gonorrhea boy. That laugh I grace you with every morning as I walk by you and your valet booth on the way to the hospital is not of the casual "Hello" variety; it instead more closely resembles the "Dude, you totally had fake gonorrhea last week, and now you're working as an aspiring actor/valet" style.

5. Be Prepared - You may think that you are contributing greatly to the development of physicians everywhere, but, after the first one or two experiences with standardized patients as a first year (after which people start meeting real patients), this activity really starts to bore us to tears and loses any utility it may once have had. Which is why we keep on having to come up with new ways to make this otherwise painful exercise at least mildly entertaining. And as far as I know, the only useful method that has been developed thus far is the one where we do everything humanly possible to stretch your improvisation skills as far as we can, just to test your skills. This means you better know the names and professions of your second and third cousins, your sexual history while you were in college (in detail - we mean down to the specific brand of condom you used during the fourth drunken hookup in the winter of your sophomore year), and the frequency, color, consistency, smell, texture, taste, size, and shape of the last seventeen bowel movements you've had. Don't want to share? Sorry, this is for our medical education, and last time I checked we're the experts asking the questions, not you.

6. Respect - I know you're an amazing actor and everything, with a resume full of what I'm sure were spectacular performances in various local plays, failed auditions for Cheetos commercials, and a triumphant role as the tenth stand-by extra for a RuPaul music video in 1995 (I bet that name brings you back...probably back to some place you never wanted to go), but please remember that you're not the only person pretending to be someone you're not. Staring right at you are the sleepy, sad, and sometimes dreamy eyes of a medical student pretending that he or she is a real doctor, in a real clinic, evaluating a real patient as well. In fact, the only difference is that you are getting paid to be there, while we are...umm...paying for you to be there. So cut us some fucking slack, alright? If we ask about your fake problem, give us a little fake story to go by so we don't have to keep on asking more and more pointless questions. If not, see Rule 5 and be prepared to start answering questions about where your mouth has been lately. Jerk.

To the standardized patients of the world, I hope you have found this useful. To the current or budding medical students out there, I hope you have found that this at least partially reflects some of the information you wish you could convey to these actors. And, finally, to Natalie Portman, you can be my standardized patient anytime.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get wasted.

*Bonus Material!

Standardized Patient Video Watching Drinking Game

Take a shot every time…
-You forgot to wash your hands
-You “accidentally” felt a boob while doing the cardiac exam
-You broke the exam table while trying to pull out the leg rest
-You demanded to actually do the rectal/breast/pelvic exam rather than accept their index card with the fake results
-You faked taking the blood pressure
-You faked any other part of the exam
-You finished 10 minutes before everyone else
-The actor went out of character
-The actor had dirty feet
-You had to touch the actor’s feet and pretend like it didn’t bother you
-You broke the fourth wall and winked at the camera
-You started laughing at the patient for no obvious reason
-You ran out of things to ask after about twenty seconds
-You referred to yourself as the "lowly" medical student
And finally, as the biggest no-no, take ten shots every time...
-You introduced yourself as “Dr."

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Clothes That Make The Man

Watching the pre-Oscar runway shows with my roommate this afternoon (What's that? No, no...I don't have any testicles at all, silly!), I couldn't help but notice that people seem most fixated on what the stars were wearing and how they wore what they were wearing. I'm sure that makes sense to someone besides me. Unexpectedly (well, maybe just for me), I found myself playing close attention to what everyone was wearing, because fashion has suddenly become a big part of my life. How, you may be wondering, can I possibly have time to worry about fashion when I'm busy saving lives? Unfortunately for me, this wasn't by choice, but was instead something thrust upon my by one of my attendings this past week...

Taking a break from my team while we were all on call one afternoon, I stopped by the office of my research attending, a young hematologist-oncologist that I sort of, kind of, maybe do research for, I think. As is tradition for all physicians (fake or real) who are on call (which means they are going to be working for 30 hours straight and staying at the hospital overnight), I donned my trusty scrubs before starting work that day because scrubs are undoubtedly the most comfortable work clothes on Earth, they still let us look like doctors, and have I mentioned how damn fine I look in scrubs? However, when I walked into this doctor's office, I was not greeted by a "Hello", a "Good afternoon", or even a "Hey it's my bitch!". No, instead he took a survey of my attire, head to ridiculously attractive toe, shook his own head in disgust, and left his office for a moment without saying a word. I sat there, rather confused and disturbingly reminded of so many blind dates I had been on in the past, before suddenly hearing the rumblings of the Xerox machine outside. This was followed moments later by my attending marching back into his office, a stack of papers in hand.

"So, did you just come out of the OR?"
"You heard me."
"Uhh, no."
"Then why are you wearing scrubs?"
"Umm...my team is on call, we're going to be here all night."
"So? Are you not going to be seeing patients, then?"
"Of course we are, we're the admitting team so we have to see patients."
"Then why are you wearing scrubs?!?"

With that, he tossed a journal article in my lap, an article with convincing evidence demonstrating that patients prefer doctors who wear formal attire at all occasions instead of casual attire (i.e. no tie) or scrubs. I stared at this article in disbelief for a moment, partially because I was not expecting this sort of greeting, partially because I could not believe someone actually took the time to study this, partially because I did not believe he actually expected us to wear a dress shirt, tie, and slacks for 30 hours straight, but mostly because he clearly was not acknowledging the fact that I look damn good in scrubs. However, after a moment to recover, I starting thinking about this. Was it really true? Do you all truly believe that it's the clothes that make the doctor? Being the massive dork that I am, and never one to back down from an utterly pointless fight, I left his office after a few more moments of small talk and did a literature search of my own, pulling up conflicting articles (one of which actually suggested that people prefer scrubs...the same article I conveniently printed out and left on said doctor's desk later that night...OH SNAP!) that left me more confused.

But then I had a great idea: Why should I try to figure this out on my own when I have the greatest collection of minds this world has ever seen at my disposal to figure it out for me? Yes, I am entrusting you, the collective mass that is the Internet, to tell me what clothes make a doctor, and, by extension, what clothes I should be wearing. Formal? Scrubs? Clown costume? Birthday suit? Saran-Wrap? Fuck-me boots? Do you like it with a tie? Do you like it in the eye? I'm very curious to use this forum to see what you all think people in my profession should be wearing. All suggestions will be taken seriously.

And with that, I will return to the Academy Awards. Oh my God can you believe what everyone's wearing?!?!?