Sick Bastard

So insteand of sitting in a dentist's chair for an hour, enduring the last of three root canal procedures-- and Jerk was right, they really are not that bad-- I elected to be sick. (I did drive in to the endodontist's office to postpone the procedure, since I wasn't entirely sick yet, and they thanked me for giving them notice and volunteering the reschedule.)

So what I am doin today is wearing four layers of clothing and wool socks, and eating what has been generously dubbed, in our family, Crap in a Can.

This is a tradition that dates back to when I was a kid. My Mom discovered, fairly early on, that when we were ill, our little tummies could pretty easily handle this over-processed, vitamin-injected, protein-infused garbage. Also, I think, she didn't like the idea of feeding us nothing but fluids for too long. So this is what I crave when I'm sick.

Also, when I read stuff about modern animal manufacturing, like Michael Polan's Omnivore's Dilemma (which I have yet to read in its entirety), there's a part of me that says "Processed food bad? Noooooooooooo, processed food GOOD! (If the meat really is diseased and full of chemicals and hormones and, as near as we can tell, old Chysler parts, then, by golly yes, PROCESS that food! Process the bejesus out of it! I don't want to have the least hint that what I'm eating came from one of these wilted monsters with balls the size of watermelons.)

So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go sit and watch North Dallas Forty and listen to myself quietly gurgle.