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Take This Job and. . .Swallow It Cow Stains, Empty Jars, and Spam Proof that Writers' Insanity is Okay Intense Blonde Bimbo Writers Can't tell Time Another Way to Say Belly Fat is Middle Age Exercise Should Come With Warning Labels |
March 4, 2007 Take This Job and. . .Swallow It For the past week, I’ve been entertaining one of my writing friends (who was on a deadline and needed some relief) with a new job idea every day. I would instant message her and say, today, I want to be. . . Of course, since it’s me, my ideas were weird. I think it all started with last Sunday’s Dead Cow blog. I had been thinking about that guy who drove around all day picking up dead livestock. I mean, really. Can you imagine? Ick.
But, I discovered
my Top Job in a February 16th, LiveScience article. The article begins with the words--sword swallowing is risky business. Gee, ya think? There was a survey done in conjunction with the Sword Swallowers’ Association International, and was detailed in the December 23, 2006 issue of the British Medical Journal. By the way, I didn’t know there was a Sword Swallower’s Association, and I also didn’t know there was enough interest in the topic for it to be published in any medical journal. Things like this are fascinating to me. It’s like a different reality. Okay, one hundred ten swallowers were queried and forty-six replied. Between all forty-six responders, two thousand swords had been swallowed in three months. And that’s not all. Twenty-five of them had swallowed more than one sword at a time. Five had swallowed at least ten at a time. One of them had downed sixteen swords at once. The biggest complaint these people had was a sore throat. (Oh, hey. I’m surprised.) This typically occurred while they were still learning, after frequent performances, or from stunts that involved multiple or oddly-shaped swords. So, there you go. To avoid a sore throat while sword swallowing, don't swallow weird swords and don’t do it for a real long time. Some of the respondents had lower chest pains that were relieved by not swallowing swords for a few days. Sixteen had intestinal bleeding. Here’s my question. How can you get intestinal bleeding from swallowing a sword? How far down do the swords go? Three of the respondents had surgeries to their necks. One of those was a belly dancing sword swallower who suffered a major hemorrhage when a bystander shoved dollar bills into her belt, causing three blades in her esophagus to “scissor.” That defies comment. I’m not even going to go there. The article claims that some of the side effects could have been exaggerated, but more than likely details were overlooked. Now, in case my blog has inspired you to become a sword swallower, here are some facts you should know: To learn the craft, you desensitize your gag reflex by gradually increasing the size of objects shoved down your throat, beginning with your finger, then spoons, paint brushes, and knitting needles (before moving on to the commonly used bent wire coat hanger). A sword swallower must learn how to align a sword with their upper esophageal sphincter, a muscular ring at the upper end of the esophagus, and how to relax muscles in the pharynx and esophagus, which are usually not under voluntary control. DISCLAIMER: If you decide to try this, you are not doing it at my suggestion. Frankly, I think all of this is weird—even for me. The researchers conclude that, “although the risk of sustaining life threatening injury is low for an experienced swallower while relaxed and concentrating on swallowing a single sword, the risk over a career is high.” Hey, I’m shocked. How about you? March 7, 2007 Cow Stains, Empty Jars, and Spam Well, tonight is a good time to answer some queries that were posted on my side bar comment feature. I dearly love answering queries (and comments), as I’ve mentioned many, many, many times before (ad nauseam). That’s just a minor hint, mind you, that I like to interact with my readers. But, I do need my readers to give me things with which to interact. So, first, I’m going to answer a question posted by Diana. In reference to my Dead Cow in the Middle of the Road blog, she asked if dead cows leave a mess on the road after they’re picked up. Yes, Diana. Dead cows leave things behind. At least this cow did. Not much, though. Just icky stains on the road. (It’s a dirt and gravel road.) I had to sidestep the spot for months, and tried not to look, but my eyes wouldn’t obey me, and kept straying to see the stains. Diana also asked who cleaned the canning jar in which I left the check for the Valley Protein (that I had to put right next to the dead cow). Don’t worry about that, my dear. It’s not a problem at all. The next time I see you, I’ll let you pick out a jar of homemade strawberry preserves from the pantry for our breakfast toast. Just kidding! I threw the jar away. (And, in case anyone wants to know, Diana is my sister.) Okay, on to the next comment. Chris L. said something about sunspots versus age spots, referring to my blog called, The Sun Burps. I’m not speaking from age, of course, although I do know that I’m older than Chris. Still, I can say with authority that they are totally different things. That’s because I did all that research about sunspots in answer to a comment sent to me by one of my timid blog readers who has yet to admit he or she wrote me a suggestion to blog about sunspots. (Ahem. Well, I did it. Where are you? I promise I won’t tell anybody who you are.) At any rate, I think the reason Chris was confused is because age spots are really caused by sun damage to the skin, and perhaps some people refer to them as sunspots. Now, another aside. I received a most interesting spam email this week. The subject line read: when He be desolate, will ye shall not be? The He, desolate, ye words sounded sort of like Scripture, and because I write Christian fiction, it wouldn’t be unusual for me to receive an email with Scripture in the subject. However, this was worded so weirdly, I was kind of suspicious. I had good reason to be. It was a very clever ad for (let us say) male enhancement drugs. Who in the world thinks up all these subject lines that get past our spam blockers? Do they get paid? You have to wonder about that. And my biggest question? Does anyone ever order things from these people? I’d really like to know. March 12, 2007 Proof that Writers’ Insanity is Okay I came across a fascinating article in LiveScience, based on a study written up in the journal, Schizophrenia Research. Here was what I needed. Finally. Proof for what I’ve known for many, many years. I’m not right in the head. And neither are many of my fellow creative types, including my writer friends. There is a certain relief in my discovery. The article begins, History suggests that the line between creativity and madness is a fine one, but a small group of people known as schizotypes are able to walk it with few problems and even benefit from it. Well, I knew about that fine line. I’ve walked it for a long time, but I’ve never heard of schizotypes. Seems that these kinds of folks fall somewhere in between normal and insane. However, they do not suffer the symptoms affecting schizophrenics, like paranoia, hallucinations, and incoherent thoughts. I might have to disagree about the incoherent thought thing. At least during book deadlines. Anyway, I tried to read an original study on the topic, but after coming across words like Heterogeneity and Phenomenology, I decided that if I kept reading I would probably cross that line into true insanity. Here’s a brief checklist of what the article says about schizotypes: They often exhibit their own eccentricities. Check. They’re not necessarily abnormal. Check. They live normal lives. Check. But they often have idiosyncratic ways of thinking. Check. Certain things may have special meaning for them. Check. They may be more spiritually attuned. Check. Bottom line: schizotypes are really creative people; creativity defined as the ability to generate something new and useful from existing products or ideas. Scientists say creativity at its base is associative. It’s taking things you might see and pass by everyday and using them in a novel way to solve a new problem. So, here’s the thing. Some scientific group decided to do this study to truly define schizotypes. During the study, three different subject groups were used in the research process. Normal people, schizophrenics (insane people), and schizotypes. For the tests, the subjects were asked to do things like come up with possible uses for a needle and thread. The normal and schizophrenic subjects came up with pretty typical responses like sewing or stitching. However, one schizotype responded that maybe if a person was poor but wanted to get engaged, he could use the thread to make a ring and use the needle to write, “I Love You,” in the sand. During some of the experiments, the subjects’ brains were monitored using a brain-imaging technique called, near-infrared optical spectroscopy. (Hey, cool word, huh?) They discovered that schizotypes use more of their right brain. So, they either have more access to their right hemisphere than the average population, or there just may be more efficient communication between the two hemispheres. I’d like to think efficiency is involved. That creative people are also efficient people, and they just take advantage of everything they were born with, including all of their brains. So, all you creative people out there, now you know. You can proudly stand up and say, yes! I’m a schizotype. I use all of my brain. Boy, am I relieved. March 14, 2007 Intense Blonde Bimbo Writers Can’t Tell Time Many months ago, I wrote a series of blog articles called, Intense Blonde Bimbo Writers Don’t Keep House. Well, I’m going to tell on myself again. Yes, I’m
blonde, but that’s not what I’m going to tell you, because I’m sure everyone in the United States knows that the time changed last weekend. It jumped ahead. You know the saying? Fall behind, spring ahead? Well, I knew the time was changing. It was spring, so the time was going to move ahead. Yep. I knew it. And promptly forgot it. See, sometimes I get lost in a different dimension because I’m cloistered in my little writing world. That can be a problem. Well, I was scheduled to speak to the Capital Christian Writers on Monday night. I was such a good girl. I’d been working on my presentation for over a month. I’m really obsessive about being prepared for things, and I’d even been practicing my talk with a timer to make sure I wasn’t going to run over. I said I was intense, right? On Monday morning, I made all of my handouts, stapled them, paper clipped everything else together, packed my bags and picked out my outfit. Everything was ready to go. All I had to do was dress, put on my make up, and drive over to Lyle’s house, who was driving me to the CCW meeting. I was in control after all that preparation when I sat in front of my computer and relaxed and began to work on my book. Now, let me say that I depend upon my computer for many, many things. One of those things is to tell me the correct time. And how many years has the computer automatically changed the time for me? Ever since I’ve had a computer. In twelve or thirteen years, I’ve never had to manually changed the time on my computer when the time changes. My faith has been totally smashed. My computer let me down. It’s all the computer’s fault. Really. It did not change the time. So, when I went downstairs, I looked at the kitchen clock and thought, oh wow. This clock is wrong. And then I realized. NO! The kitchen clock had already been changed. It was my computer clock that was wrong. Oh. My. Word. ! ! ! Can I say that I wanted to throw up? The REAL time was twenty after four. I needed to be at Lyle’s house at five, and he lived forty minutes away. What did I do? For a moment, I couldn’t think at all. Then I moved into action. I did not panic. I’m old enough to know that panicking is fruitless. Nope. I
yanked on the outfit that I had laid out earlier. Then I shoved all of
my make up into a bag. I snatched up all my stuff, ran to the car, and
took off. And a miracle happened. I made it to Lyle’s in thirty minutes, without speeding. I put on my make up in his car. We made it to the meeting in plenty of time. In fact, we were early.
Go figure. What could have been a disaster turned out great. However, I’m still mad at my computer. Because, of course, this was not my fault. Nope. March 18, 2007 Another Way to Say Middle Age is Belly Fat I have reached two milestones this week. First, I’ve lost seventy pounds and weigh less than I have in ten years. Second, I ran two miles on my treadmill. For the first time ever. Anybody out there who has hit middle age will understand what an achievement those things are. See, another way to say middle age is belly fat. You wake up one day, look down, and realize you can’t see your knees for the gut hanging off your stomach. You begin to notice things that used to be easy, like putting on socks, aren’t so easy anymore. Even a simple activity such as getting in and out of a car is an effort. Unfortunately, unlike when we were young, we can’t just skip a meal here and there, start running back and forth to the car, and expect to lose fifty pounds in two months. It’s as if our bodies have decided that they like fat, dang it, and they want to hang on to everything they take in. Sort of like planning for Y2K or a famine. Socking away the pounds in order to prepare for the worst. When I started this journey of losing weight, I’d been steadily gaining weight for fifteen years. Just a few pounds here and there, but still I gained. Then came my body’s final triumph. Like it decided it was in total control. Picture Jabba the Hut. That's how I felt. I gained thirty pounds in a year to reach my final, horrible total. (Which I will not admit to right now. However, when I reach my goal, I will proudly tell everyone.) I had to face the truth. I was fat. And people said things like, well, at least you have a pretty face. Gee, thanks, but I’d really like to look good walking away, too. I fumbled around for a while, half-heartedly trying to lose the weight, but it wasn’t until I started to get scared for my health that I got serious. My blood pressure was sky rocketing. I was considered obese by the doctor. And I was having trouble breathing. Worse than anything else, was the memory of my great grandmother who weighed over four-hundred pounds when she died. Etched in my mind is the image of her sitting on a love seat because she couldn’t fit in a chair. So, I did two things. Went on the South Beach Diet and got moving. I could barely walk a half a mile at first, never mind entertaining the thought of jogging. I thought I would die when I cut bread and sweets from my diet. I had true withdrawal. I had trouble sleeping, and when I did finally sleep, I dreamed about food. I was really, really crabby. Then the miracles started happening. I lost my cravings. My body started to shrink. I’ve been working on me for four years now. Maybe some people would think, gee, four years and you’ve only lost seventy pounds? Yep. And I’m glad I did it that way. I don’t have any hanging skin. I’ve also proven that this is a life-long change, not a flash in the pan. So, please let this be an encouragement for anyone who feels they’re out of control. Believe me, if I can do it, anybody can. March 21, 2007 Exercise Should Come With Warning Labels I thought I might continue the getting in shape theme I started on Sunday by giving my faithful readers some exercise warnings. These are things that I’ve learned over the last four years. 1. Don’t run in a snow storm. Or an ice storm. Or on ice. Or on hard packed snow. (Yes, that should be obvious, but some people insist on learning things the hard way.) 2. Don’t do Muppet imitations while running on a treadmill. Two reasons. One-- concentrating on the imitations can be a distraction. Distraction on a treadmill means one could be flung halfway across the room. Two--if you’re doing imitations when you’re by yourself and people walk in, they will think you’re crazy. Even if you are crazy, you don’t need to let everyone know. AND, if you’re with someone else and doing imitations to entertain them while they exercise, you could cause them to hurt themselves, especially if they’re lifting weights. 3. The use of an iPod on a treadmill is highly recommended by me, however, if you’re the kind of person who likes to dance, you could be in trouble. Dancing on a treadmill isn’t recommended. I guess I don’t need to tell you how I know that. 4. Be aware that singing with an iPod while you’re exercising doesn’t sound as good to other people as it does in your head. Especially when you’re running. 5. Pretending your index fingers are drum sticks and banging them in rhythm on the front of the treadmill is not good for your fingers. And it also makes you look kind of dumb. 6. Those indentations and lumps you’re getting in your legs are not a sign that you have a wasting muscle disease. Nope. For the first time in your life, you’re finally developing muscle. 7. Don’t overdo. Just because (for the first time in life) you have muscles doesn’t mean you can pretend to be an Olympic athlete and go on and on and on. You will suffer if you push yourself too hard. 8. That saying, no pain, no gain? Well, there’s a fine line to be drawn there. Sometimes it holds true and sometimes it doesn’t. Here’s another saying that will help: Know thyself. Be aware of what your body is telling you. Some pain can be worked through. Other pain means it’s time to give it a rest. 9. There really is a point you reach where exercise is like a drug and you become a junkie. Like, when you can’t do it, you begin to freak out. I never believed that before. I do now. (Hey, wow man. Gotta have my fix. GOT TO HAVE IT!!!) Okay, I’ve said all of this in a funny way, but understand that I am very, very serious about my exercise program. Not everyone can run, but everyone can do something to improve themselves physically. There are no excuses, really. It’s a choice. Wouldn’t I make a great drill sergeant? Down on the floor right now, soldier! Give me fifty! March 25, 2007 You Think You’re Losing Your Mind? Maybe You Are. At the risk of boring some of my faithful blog readers, I’m going to continue harping on my getting in shape topic. Particularly the exercise part of the whole deal. As you know, I usually jump around the internet several times a week, searching for blog article fodder. Well, I found a fascinating study on how exercise can boost brain power. There is mounting evidence that being physically fit may prevent serious mental disorders like Alzheimers, ADHA, and depression. (Although nothing was said about things like writer’s insanity. I’m pretty sure that’s incurable.) In fact, there’s even proof that if you also have a “brainy” diet, full of omega-3 fatty acids, they help double the effects of exercise on the brain. (“Brain exercises” like crossword puzzles help, too.) Of course, a perfectly healthy person who eats fish, exercises religiously, and exercises the brain everyday still has some risks for those bad things, but it’s much lower than the couch potato mesmerized by the television, eating doughnuts all day. Here’s how it works: Every time
a bicep or quad contracts and releases, it sends With regular exercise, the body builds up its store of BDNF. Then cool things start to happen. The brain’s nerve cells start branching out, joining together, and communicating with each other in new ways. Simply put, brains with more BDNF have more capacity for learning. Hey, I’m all for more learning capacity. These lively nerve cells aren’t branching out all over the brain. Apparently, they’re only in the (BIG WORD WARNING) dentate gyrus of the hippocampus (No, I’m not joking), an area of the brain that controls learning and memory. This area (tucked under the temporal lobes) helps the brain match names to faces—one of the first skills to erode as we age. It’s not just a matter of slowing down the aging process, says Arthur Kramer, a psychologist at the University of Illinois. It’s a matter of reversing it. The rest of the brain benefits from exercise in secondary ways. Blood volume, like brain volume, increases with exercise. Active adults have less inflammation in the brain. And the research is only beginning. Okay, so here’s what I think. Anything to slow down my aging process is a good thing. It’s worth the effort—and it IS an effort. Exercise takes time. However, we’re not talking about hours everyday. We’re talking about like thirty minutes of aerobic exercise three or four days a week. That is not impossible. Have I convinced everyone yet?
March 28, 2007 A Clean Sweep--Getting Rid of the Junk Tonight’s topic is a bit of philosophical waxing—that’s what one of my friends calls it when I ramble on in emails about thoughtful things. Yes, I am capable of serious thought. In between sarcasm, of course. Maybe it’s a little bit like waxing furniture. I go on and on and on until I reach a shining thought. Well, at least I think the thought is shining. So, today at work, I was cleaning out files. That’s my big project right now. And, I hit some stuff from the 1970s. I thought, wow. Haven’t things changed since then? Computers, for one thing. Who would have thought (back in the 1970s) that I would be posting a blog article (blog?), using my personal computer (personal?), and putting it out on the World Wide Web for everyone to read. I mean, come on? Who had ever heard of the World Wide Web in the 1970s? Think of how things have changed. But, that’s a digression. Let me get back to my point. The operative word for what I’m doing with the files is cleaning. I’m discarding things that are no longer important. When I’m finished with each drawer, the space has almost doubled, leaving room for new files. Really, when I wax philosophical about this, it’s sort of a Biblical principle. If we hang on to old things, we run out of room for the good stuff God has for us now. Think about the people you’ve known who never let go of the past. They can’t let things go. Like what people have done to them. Or situations that have hurt them. As a result, they aren’t happy. They are no fun to be around. And they don’t have room inside themselves for God to pour in the good stuff He has for them. I know someone who holds terrible grudges. Over the years, she’s alienated everyone around her. Now, she’s constantly ill. Is it no wonder? All those negative emotions acted like slow poison. And the most ironic thing of all is that she claims the devil is making her sick. The devil? Please! He didn’t have to work real hard with her. Just little jabs here and there to encourage her anger and hatred. She hung on to all the bad stuff like it was a prized puppy to be coddled and treasured. She’s done a fine job of destroying her own life. But, she’ll never admit that. It’s always someone else’s fault. Other people. The devil. Whatever. No responsibility for her own actions. No admittance that she is totally deceived. And, there’s also the Biblical principle of living in today. Not in yesterday. Not in tomorrow. Today. Yesterday is gone. A memory in a scrapbook. We truly don’t know what tomorrow holds. If we find pleasure in today. . .I believe that is the secret to being content. As I was cleaning out those files, I thought of my own life. Do I have things that I’m hanging onto? Things that I need to let go of? Emotions that aren’t healthy? Situations that aren’t healthy? Do I live for today only, or am I constantly looking for something else. Something more. My heart’s desire is to always live in the now. To find joy in the moment. I don’t know what tomorrow holds. And yesterday should hold no sway over what I do today. A good goal, I think. Back to Top
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