apropos of nothing, part 7
-Bad Ribs
I am leery of anything that everyone says is good...like pilates, Million Dollar Baby or this local rib house we attended today for a pleasant Memorial Day luncheon. Crys' parents clamor after the place, saying it is smack-smack good. I should have objected right then and there.
What we got were ribs that while pleasant, were not great, and were considerably hurt by their jigsaw bone structure, which made each bite an Indiana Jones-esque walk through the temple. You never knew when something was going to snap forward and gut you or take out a lung. It was the kind of meal that, afterward, would make me want to cry out, "I wanna vomit and then eat a good meal!" After saying this, my lovely wife snorted so hard that she almost lost control of both her car and sinuses.
I have only recently learned of the joy that can be had by the meat of the rib, though in this case it was clearly the death-meat of an unwanted orphan pig, one who had low self-esteem and who had been so unloved by its brethren that it was not his savory juices that were sealed into his flesh, but the dour self-loathing of a fetishistic nightmare boar, and the sauce could not cover his indiscretions, nor his karmic decay.
The slaw, however, was rather tasty.
-Bad Sensations
I would not go so far as to say I am hypochondriacal, but I do regularly have legitimate pangs and twinges that lead me to worry, perhaps necessarily and perhaps not, almost all the time. In fact, the best way for me to forget about one uncomfortable sensation is to simply have a new one pop up.
I have lately been under the impression that I a) pulled a groin muscle, b) am developing a second hernia, or c) have swallowed the clutch from a 1968 Ford Impala. I'm less apt to believe the Impala option, as I am not a classic car enthusiast nor do I readily have access to such items.
When bothered by a pain, I used to visit Web MD, a medical website that provides sufficiently detailed information on anything that could ever happen within the confines of the human anatomy. But I stopped doing that because frankly, every time I read up on a subject I would inundate my brain with a dozen or more dire possibilities that scared me far worse than the actual problem would have. Now, I just watch House and look away whenever they zoom in through someone's aorta and show a few nerves exploding, or something equally graphic and unpleasant. I enjoy that show, but every now and then they do something I find particularly uncomfortable.
I have made a doctor appointment for this week and will see which wins, the sore crotch or the surgical enhancement to my checking account.
all my excess lies in texas
I am leery of anything that everyone says is good...like pilates, Million Dollar Baby or this local rib house we attended today for a pleasant Memorial Day luncheon. Crys' parents clamor after the place, saying it is smack-smack good. I should have objected right then and there.
What we got were ribs that while pleasant, were not great, and were considerably hurt by their jigsaw bone structure, which made each bite an Indiana Jones-esque walk through the temple. You never knew when something was going to snap forward and gut you or take out a lung. It was the kind of meal that, afterward, would make me want to cry out, "I wanna vomit and then eat a good meal!" After saying this, my lovely wife snorted so hard that she almost lost control of both her car and sinuses.
I have only recently learned of the joy that can be had by the meat of the rib, though in this case it was clearly the death-meat of an unwanted orphan pig, one who had low self-esteem and who had been so unloved by its brethren that it was not his savory juices that were sealed into his flesh, but the dour self-loathing of a fetishistic nightmare boar, and the sauce could not cover his indiscretions, nor his karmic decay.
The slaw, however, was rather tasty.
-Bad Sensations
I would not go so far as to say I am hypochondriacal, but I do regularly have legitimate pangs and twinges that lead me to worry, perhaps necessarily and perhaps not, almost all the time. In fact, the best way for me to forget about one uncomfortable sensation is to simply have a new one pop up.
I have lately been under the impression that I a) pulled a groin muscle, b) am developing a second hernia, or c) have swallowed the clutch from a 1968 Ford Impala. I'm less apt to believe the Impala option, as I am not a classic car enthusiast nor do I readily have access to such items.
When bothered by a pain, I used to visit Web MD, a medical website that provides sufficiently detailed information on anything that could ever happen within the confines of the human anatomy. But I stopped doing that because frankly, every time I read up on a subject I would inundate my brain with a dozen or more dire possibilities that scared me far worse than the actual problem would have. Now, I just watch House and look away whenever they zoom in through someone's aorta and show a few nerves exploding, or something equally graphic and unpleasant. I enjoy that show, but every now and then they do something I find particularly uncomfortable.
I have made a doctor appointment for this week and will see which wins, the sore crotch or the surgical enhancement to my checking account.
all my excess lies in texas
posted by scn at 5:18 PM
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