An Open Letter to the Phillips Ambulatory Care Center

To Whom It May Concern,

Earlier this week I had minor surgery in your hospital.  Though I wouldn’t describe it as a pleasure, the entire experience left me with nothing but satisfaction towards your facility. I found your staff to be thorough and professional.  The doctors performing my surgery took great care to explain the procedure and anesthesia that would be administered.  The nursing staff in the recovery room was caring and attentive as I woke up and readied myself to leave.  The surgical center should take pride in their facility and team.

There is one issue, however, that I wish to address.  As seamless as my visit was, it bore very, very little resemblance to the mid 2000’s sitcom Scrubs.

My surgeon was a white male in his early 50’s, calm and confident as a result of his years of experience.  He was not a hungry young go-getter learning the ropes of life, love, and medicine.  And while I did not inquire about his personal life, I highly doubt this gentleman had a black best friend.  I suspected he may have been the Dr. Cox of my visit, but not once did he berate his resident (a younger female doctor) with a long-winded rant peppered with personal insults.  Said resident did not sneak into a supply closet to cry nor appear in her underwear, causing me to wonder just how much Scrubs l would be getting.

Sadly, my dissatisfaction continued to mount.  The janitor was short, mild-mannered, and concerned primarily with his job.  There were no a capella groups, let alone an a capella performance.  The lighting, while adequate and appropriate for a medical facility, did nothing to support the delicate balance of laugher and sorrow Scrubs perfected.  I could not, to the best of my ability, sense anyone daydreaming about the 1980s or a wacky what-if scenario.  Worst of all, at no point in my stay did anyone slip on a wet floor, fall when the object they were leaning on was moved, or flip over a gurney trying to make an exit after a snappy one liner.

There certainly were moments when I could tell you were trying.  The anesthesiologist, for example, was a delight.  As I came out of heavier sedation in the operating room, he was complaining about putting under 300 pound men for endoscopies.  They’d eat McDonalds every day and then complain about stomach problems, and the anesthesiologist’s patience was wearing thin.  Fantastic premise, but the first rule of storytelling is “show, don’t tell”!  Still, he was a great guest star, and might be worth moving to ‘recurring’ status.

There was also a delightful moment of levity when one of the recovery room nurses saw my penis.  It was an accident, of course, a minor blanket mishap, but it would’ve made for a great B-Plot.  I’ll leave the details up to you (intentional? accidental?) but I should’ve ended up naked in front of everyone on the floor.  One person seeing my penis was great, but the rule of threes demanded that at least 2 other people see it too.

I bring this up because I feel I tried my very best to give you a Scrubs experience.  While I can’t claim to know for sure, I can’t imagine Butt Surgery” is a terribly common occurrence in your hospital. You really dropped the ball in this situation, quite frankly.  On one hand, it’s funny medicine (butt surgery).  On the other hand, it’s serious medicine (butt surgery).  And you can’t talk funny/serious medicine without tipping your cap to Scrubs creator Bill Lawrence, Zach Braff, Donald Faision, and the rest of the Scrubs gang.

I appreciate your time in reading my letter.  A reply, even cursory, would be appreciated.  It can be frustrating to not know if your complaints have even been received.  I still have yet to hear back from the Mayor regarding City Hall’s resemblance to Spin City (or appalling lack thereof).



Holy Smokes.


Wow. Wow. Wow.

I saw her, Jilette Johnson, in concert tonight.  She was opening for the band I went to see (Wakey!Wakey!, who she outdrew) and I was blown away.  She’s going to be big.  This woman has some pipes and they’re even better live.  I was on the balcony for the song linked above and it was stunning.  Jaw dropping.

This is one of those songs that reminds me how broken my understanding of art is.  We’re all mining the same emotional quarry, sure, but what I hack into the deep thought, “Well, this is uncomfortable, time for a drink.” she’s able to grind, refine, and sculpt into this.  

I just don’t get it.  It’s like trying to explain colors to a blind dog.  



Excited to announce ImprovCoaches Austin is up and running!

If anyone knows of other cities I should launch let me know!  We sent 35 emails to coaches today, blowing away other days.  People are really using this thing and I’m thrilled to see it.

This release also includes a few bug fixes present in the registration process, mostly for coaches who signed up without Facebook.