When I tell people we get the Sunday New York Times, I can feel them roll their eyes at the pretentiousness. Fine. Let them think I'm pretentious while I read what is basically a gossip magazine in black tie attire: the Sunday Style section.

Recently I've read an article called "Snookinomics", a profile of Andy Cohen, and an in-depth description of what one of my favorite authors wore each day for a week. I'm an expert on the guy who planned Prince William's bachelor party. And of course, my favorite part of the paper is the wedding announcements.

I like to see what jobs the couples have and how they met. Usually only children of crazy important people in the Northeast, mainly New York, are featured.

This couple from Houston caught my eye a few weeks ago. Houston? I thought, that's random. How did they get in the Times?

And then the obvious key word jumped out at me: astronaut. Duh - Nasa is in Houston. They were children of astronauts. That's what you have to do get into the Times if you live south of the Mason Dixon line - be the descendant of an astronaut.

And then another key phrase jumped out: emergency medicine physicians. Astronaut doctors! That particular job had never occurred to me, but of course they need physicians in space. A quick Google search made it pretty clear that most space doctors (space doctors sounds way cooler than physician astronauts, don't you think?) are emergency medicine doctors. In case you missed it, ER/EM/ED is what Y wants to do.

real, live astronauts...

What does it take to become an astronaut? I'm not sure - although the always reliable Yahoo Answers says "anyone can be an astronaut if you pass the health test". Of course, Y has barely expressed interest in a post-graduation vacation, much less a side-career in astronauting. But the revelation that Y could, theoretically, have found a backdoor entry into space travel intrigues me -- in the absolute worst way possible. I get nervous walking by the windows on the way to my sixth floor office, I don't think I could handle (vicariously) the heights involved with being an astronaut. I hear they go pretty high.

But it might be worth it to be married to Dr. Spaceman.

ER or something like it

Well, it finally happened: Y picked a specialty. Actually, he's picked about 6 specialties, so let me clarify: he finally picked one that stuck. And it happens to be the most confusing type of doctor ever:

ER doctor.

Oh excuse me - that slight shift you just felt was every physician ever rolling their eyes at the same time. What I meant to say was "emergency medicine physician". Apparently only the uninitiated say ER doctor.

Also, in case you were planning on embarrassing yourself, it's not the emergency room, it's the emergency department and you must call it the ED -- not the ER -- or ELSE. And no erectile dysfunction jokes allowed. SO MANY RULES. On this blog, I'm calling it ER because a) I feel pompous typing "emergency physician" over and over, and b) that's what a young George Clooney would have called it.

According to pretty much everyone, ER is the last specialty they would have expected Y to choose. Based on this "physician specialty stereotype" comic (which is obviously the official description) I would have to disagree:

Find the link to the rest of the comic here. And while you're there, tell me where you find primary care physicians that are hippies - certainly not here!

Minus the celtic tattoo, I see Y in this guy. Y has an inner McGyver that he is always trying to unleash before I roll my eyes at him. Also like this guy, Y thinks on his feet. When he has an idea of how to fix/build something, he wants it done "stat", no time for silly things like plans. Y also, like the guy above, has only seventeen hairs.

So congrats on realizing your destiny, Y. And thank you for choosing a specialty that I can easily learn more about by watching Uncle Jesse and Danny Ocean pretend to treat patients. Who thinks I can watch all 15 seasons of ER in the next year?