Monthly Archives: May 2017

My Old Friend Ray Died

Today would have been my old friend Ray’s 61st birthday. I miss her. RIP, Ray.

FiftyFourandAHalf

My old friend Ray died this past Monday.  Suicide.  She leapt to her death from a parking garage.  I don’t know any more than that as yet.  But Ray has been troubled for many years.  There will be a memorial service next month.

***

Ray and I laughed and cried together since 7th grade, when serendipity moved me from one seat in Homeroom to one across the table from her.  To be honest, I was terrified of her.  You see, Ray was cool, she was popular, she was fun and funny.  Everybody wanted to be her friend in 7th grade.  But she wanted to be my friend.  I’ve always felt that she changed my life with that action; she raised my social status in school.  I was no longer a non-desirable.  I was a “Friend of Ray’s.”  And that was something special.

For the last 18 hours since…

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Fertility vs. Virility

These changes are being brought to you by men. Men who cannot get pregnant. Men who are well insured. Men who can pay for the doctors or an abortion.

Let women make choices about women’s bodies.

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My New-ish Expertise

Being a fake medical expert has become a bit passe, frankly.  And that expertise came after my rarely discussed time as environmental science expertise honed as a lowly paralegal/legislative & regulatory assistant/lobbyist.

So I figure I’m ready for a new challenge.  And just in time for World IBD Day, I’m takin’ on physics!

The Physics of Poop, of course.  And I think you will agree that I do have the expertise.  And the, ummm, credentials.  And I don’t have to go far for sample collection.

You see, there’s an article I read.  (Of course there’s an article.)

The Physics of Poop

You know it’s a good article, because this is the photo that accompanies the article:

Elephant Poop

This critter has nothin’ on me.  Except maybe on my shoes  Credit: Barry Kusama Getty Images

The authors, David Hu and Patricia Yang, studied poop every which way but Sunday.  Well, maybe Sunday, too.  Because there are some chores that simply must be done 7 days a week.

They discovered that herbivores produced “floaters” and carnivores plopped “sinkers.”  And apparently “stinkers” too, as tigers apparently have the stinkiest poop and panda poop is positively precious.

Bigger animals, not surprisingly, are more prodigious poopers, but interestingly, the speed of poop production is similar regardless of the size of the animal:

Assuming a bell curve distribution, 66 percent of animals take between 5 and 19 seconds to defecate. It’s a surprisingly small range, given that elephant feces have a volume of 20 liters, nearly a thousand times more than a dog’s, at 10 milliliters.

In all honesty, the attraction of the article wasn’t the significant increase in my already vast knowledge and understanding of poop.

Nope. There were two reasons.

First, it’s the fact that this article alerted me to the existence of NASA’s

Space Poop Challenge

I think you will admit that I should be an automatic contender.

More importantly, this article gave me something to write about to celebrate World IBD Day.  And while I personally celebrate every day, you, personally can have fun with poop on World IBD Day.  Don’t say I never gave you anything.

***

But WAIT!  There’s MORE!  After this post went to press, I found this article.

When Birds of a Feather Poop Together

Golly.  Studying poop has become a 24/7 commitment for me.

You’re welcome.

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Filed under A Little Restraint, Perhaps, Advice from an Expert Patient, All The News You Need, Assholes, Being an asshole, Chronic Disease, Conspicuous consumption, Cool people, Crohn's Disease, Disgustology, DON'T go back to your day job either, Flatulence, Gross, Health and Medicine, Holy Shit, Huh?, Humor, Mom would die of embarrassment, Moose, Mysteries, Oh shit, Oops!, Pandas, Passive Aggression, Peaceful Protests, Pets, Poop, Poop Power, Return carriage, Satisfaction, Shit, Shit happens, Size Matters, Stop!, Toilets, Tom Price, Trump, Wild Beasts, WTF?

The Day in a Picture

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Why No, Thank You

The art of letter writing is dead, and it makes me sad.  Whenever I read history or biography, I think of the loss to mankind and to history of all of the letters we never exchange — emails aren’t the same.  And even still, it is likely that only Hillary Clinton’s emails will be kept.

Greeting cards are few and far between too.  I used to love to spend time searching stores for just the right one with just the right message.  Today, though, good ones are hard to find, and it just never seems that I can get to one of the three stores left in the continental U.S. that sells good ones when I need one.

Thank you cards too.  I once read that the key to George H.W. Bush’s success was that he always sent thank you notes.  But nobody ever sends those any more.

Or so I thought.  But today I go this in the mail:

Thank You Georgetown

A thank you card from the hospital where I let them shove tools up my butt. Inside it thanks me for letting me have them abuse my body.  (Or something like that.)  Not something you hear of every day.

You see, on Wednesday, I had my annual tuneup, a sigmoidoscopy, performed in the hospital so that Dr. C can check out the plumbing.  They aren’t really so bad, and they give me good drugs so I’m asleep and wake up refreshed.  I usually feel quite good afterwards in fact.

This time I felt even better, though.  Because my doctor told me that she thinks I’m in remission!  That means no active disease!  Whoo-hoo.  Even without a poop transplant or drinking worm larvae.  Cool.

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