And Now for Something Completely Different...

...at least for me.

If you're weak of, uh, spirit, you might want to skip this post. I damned-near didn't write it. However, the late and greatly lamented Rob Smith began the tradition of Crap-Blogging, which was taken up by no less a literary light than James Lileks just days later (albeit about a dog.) In fact, Rob's inspiration led to no less than three "Carnival of the Crapper" aggregations before they, thankfully, sank from sight (so to speak.)

Here is my initial (and probably final) foray into scatalogical bloggage. Hopefully it won't be a "striver."

As I noted a couple of posts ago, I'm ill with whatever the current creeping-crud is. Sinuses that alternately flow like rivers or block up like my head is full of winter molasses, sore throat, croaking voice, general low-level fever (that's now thankfully gone), green goo from my eyes, etc.

Post-nasal drip tends to have a negative effect on my gastrointestinal tract. Hopefully without sharing too much information, my GI tract ain't all that "regular" anyway. As I've noted before, I have a genetic condition (Acute Intermittent Porphyria) and it also has some influence on what my body does. While AIP tends to trend most people it affects towards constipation, I am apparently the exception to that rule. "Normal" bowel movements for me are rarities. I can't tell you how unusual it is for me to (as an acquaintance once so crudely but poetically put it) "pinch off a three-pound Brown Boneless sewer trout." My condition has rendered me somewhat... curious about the end-result of my digestive process.

Don't get me wrong! I'm not obsessive about it. I mean, I haven't gone out and bought one of those German shelf toilets or anything (but I know they exist, which is a weirdness I think I'll not pursue further here.) But I have to admit to some fascination when, a mere eight hours after dining on Mongolian Chicken from my local favorite Chinese restaurant, I stand and see undigested green onion pieces floating in the bowl.

It gives one pause to consider the wonders of the alimentary canal, digestive acids and enzymes, peristalsis, and the miracle that is the Charmin Ultra Double-Roll.

Anyway, when I'm ill, and especially when I'm not being hounded cared for by my lovely and concerned wife, I tend to not eat. As I discovered however, the "not eating" thing tends to aggravate the Porphyria, so I do try to force myself to consume something. The results of what I eat, along with post-nasal mucus are generally uninteresting in the extreme, in addition to being dully repetitive. (Take soup, add scum, result: bleh.)

Except Wednesday. While I'd have rather been in bed, I had to be on the work site programming away in anticipation of start-up. Thus, I tended to ignore the urges of my abdomen a bit, until they couldn't be ignored anymore. The results were, um, a bit explosive, but not... ah, er, liquid, you might say. It felt... odd.

My curiosity was piqued, I must admit.

No, I hadn't dropped a three-pound Brown Boneless. In the bottom of the bowl were...

Turdpoles!

(I swear, that's what popped immediately to mind. Little light brown tadpoles. Turdpoles! That and "I ought to blog this!")

So, what did I eat to fend off the Porphyria?

Tootsie rolls. Midgees, to be precise.

Science. Isn't it fascinating?