“Hey wait. You’re the captain of the ship. We can talk about what direction we’re going. But we’re going in a direction. And if there’s a debate about what direction we’re going, it’s my ship, I’m gonna pick at the end of the day. I’m gonna take everyone’s input. But there’s gonna come a point when the ship has to go. Because there’s only a certain number of lemons. And you’re gonna get scurvy and we’re all gonna lose our teeth. And it’s gonna get f*cking crazy. And people are gonna lose their minds. We need to keep the ship moving. You can get your own ship.” -Â Jason Calacanis
“What gets you out of bed in the morning to win? You have to have some love for the game.” -Â Jason Calacanis
So ya, I respect the dude. Passionate? Yes. Overly honest? Yes. Respect? Yes.
Guilt. Guilt is a major factor for me. It is something we Catholics specialize in. Sin is human. You must confess your sins. This is ingrained in you. You step out of the confessional and you glance at a young woman in your seventh grade class and her breasts are pressing up against her blouse, purchased by her parents a year before she bloomed, not replaced because it was all they could afford, nicely pressed of course, and seventh-grade-you notices perhaps too much. This is followed quickly by the realization that “damnit, now I have to get back in line. shit. it’ll have to wait until next week when we all wait in the freezing church on a wednesday morning in connecticut for confession.” And you prayed. Not to be forgiven for looking at breasts. No, you prayed that next week would not be a week when theÂ Monsignor was working the confessional.Â The girls in your class were probably just as curious, although all parties too innocent to ever verify any of that. But the Monsignor, while a good and blessed man (see what I did there) did not seem so innocent on these matters. No, in fact he scared the ever living shit out of us. Me in particular I believed. I knew.
I killed time waiting for my turn in confession (never go first. you don’t want a fresh and energetic priest. you want a tired-and-i-wanna-go-back-to-the-rectory-priest) by pre-saying my prayers. I mean, I had time. You knew it was going to be some combination of Hail Mary’s (mostly) a few Our Fathers (the old-reliable) and if you were particularly bad you would get an Apostles’ Creed. And the prayers were doled out as if they were the same. (For the record, they are NOT. To say a Hail Mary, even speed-talking in your little brain can easily take 20 minutes. So the penance of “Say five Our Fathers and five Hail Marys” kind of made you mad at the lady of the house.) But back to the point. I never asked if pre-saying prayers for penance counted because I didn’t want to know. I figured nobody ever told me that pre-praying explicitly wasÂ not allowed. Surely every other kid had thought of it, right? So I ran with it. I pre-prayed. This worked well and sometimes reduced post-confessional-penance to one or two prayers. I thought this must impress my teachers because they would think I was a really good kid so the priest didn’t give me much of a penance. Who doesn’t like the kid who got one Our Father and could scoot?
In this era of patient safety and emphasis on reducing medical errors, it doesnâ€™t make much sense to rely on rote memory to practice medicine.
Watson antiquates closed board exams. Â Instead of sitting in a testing room, doctors should be evaluated on how well they canÂ find the necessary information â€” not how well they can recall something they memorized.