brain static

	Brain static is the random electrical activity that happens in my head when the rest of me is at rest, the sputterings of a loose connection. I am pleased to share these neuronal discharges with you; why should I suffer alone? If you wish to retaliate--I mean respond--feel free to do so. I've taken out the response buttons due to overwhelming public apathy, but you can send me a note from the home page.

August 31: Antiversary.

Today is my son and D-in-L’s anniversary. We sent them a card wishing them a happy one, the socially approved sentiment. But now it seems to me that is exactly the wrong attitude. There are 365 days in a year, sometimes more; doesn’t wishing someone a happy anniversary imply that you don’t much care whether they enjoy the other 364? There are bound to be good days and bad in the course of a year, or a life—they can’t all be good. Rather than just let the bad stuff happen whenever it wants, I suggest we pick just one day to suck up all the evils of the year like a scapegoat, leaving the rest of the year free of miseries. And what better day, what easier day to remember? Christmas, maybe, but somehow I don’t foresee a major popular movement in that direction.

So I say Lousy Anadversity, Dave & Anna. I hope it's a good day, and the worst day of your lives.

August 26: The Other Diet Revolution

So first there was Dr. Atkins’ Diet Revolution…no, no, first (after learning that my liver was not going to tolerate statins) was your basic low-cholesterol diet, which made my cholesterol go up. So then I tried the oat-bran diet, which actually worked pretty well if you don’t mind eating eight oat-bran muffins a day and gaining ten or fifteen pounds. Even if I could have tolerated that over the long term, Jeanine kind of balked at baking muffins four times a week.

I forget what came next, but as I recall it had little effect on my cholesterol, but my triglycerides went up so high the lab printed out the results in red. Then came Atkins, which my doctor would have vetoed if I weren’t out of options. It meant no bread or potatoes, no cereal, pastries, or pasta, and no sugar, but I could have all the eggs, salami, and cheese I wanted. I quickly learned to make ice cream without sugar, so I was reasonably content. It made me a difficult dinner guest, but my chemicals came back into line.

I guess it got stressful after several years, or something did because my blood pressure started to go up. The blood pressurologist said to cut my salt intake to 1700 mg. a day. If that means nothing to you consider that a serving of Olive Garden’s salad contains 1930 mg. A low-salt diet effectively eliminates all soup, and salami, sausage, hot dogs, ham, bacon, or any other processed meat. It means you cannot go to a restaurant, any restaurant, and stay on your diet. You can’t even drive by with the car window open.

This was starting to get a bit onerous, but we’re talking about my life, after all. So I compromised a bit (there is such a thing as uncured, low-salt—OK, it’s actually called “lower”-salt—bacon) but I persevered.

And then came the gout. Contrary to the opinion of Henry VIII’s Royal Physician, we now know that a rich diet doesn’t actually cause the disease of kings, but dietary indiscretion can precipitate an acute gouty attack. So goodbye to meat, shellfish, beer and wine, sweets (even with Splenda).

That leaves me with…nothing. Too damn little. My diet is constricting faster than my arteries. I give up. There comes a time when the life you are trying to prolong is no longer worth preserving. The time is now; pizza, anyone?

August 19: Another item for the “DUH” file.

A recent article in the Journal of the American Medical Association reports that 20% of teenagers in this country have at least some hearing loss, with the incidence of what is categorized as “mild or worse” (that is, more than “slight”) impairment increased by 77% in the last 15 years. The authors didn’t identify a cause, but eliminated ear infections and environmental noise as possibilities. I’m not sure whether they referenced an Australian study that showed a 70% increase in risk of hearing loss associated with the use of iPods.

I don’t know who funds this kind of research, but they could save a lot of money by just asking me. Or going to a rock concert. A rock concert doesn’t count as “environmental noise” only because it’s not everywhere—you have to subject yourself to it deliberately.

Have you been to a movie lately? I haven’t dared to enter a movie theater without earplugs for years, and it’s getting worse. The last movie I saw—about an hour ago—was uncomfortably loud even with my earplugs stuffed in as deep as they would go. Years ago I complained to the theater manager about it, and he sympathized but said he was required to maintain the volume at that level by corporate headquarters. I’m pretty sure they didn’t make that rule because people actually wanted the soundtrack to loosen their back teeth, so I conclude that people who go to movies are getting deaf.

Not that long ago, old people tended to avoid wearing hearing aids because they thought it was like wearing a sign that said “Old People.” In a few more years, that will be reversed: naked ears will be the sign that says “Old People.” In 25 years there won’t be any of us left, and cochear implants will be as common as cataract surgery.

August 10: An acquired taste.

I was trying to learn a new piece on the guitar and the first time through I played two notes together that sounded awful. I thought I had made a mistake but Tom, my teacher, assured me that it was correct. “Play it a few times. You get used to it. After a while it actually sounds pretty good.”

If you didn’t like that greenish-purple you started to paint the kitchen, would you keep painting and see if it grows on you? You would not. It seems to me we ought to trust our first impressions. Our senses are pretty accurate, and they probably confer some evolutionary advantage. If something tastes bad it may be poisonous—why would you keep eating it in the hope that it would eventually taste better?

Why do people eat Marmite (or Vegemite, in Australia), the yeast sludge left over from making beer?

If we didn’t keep trying, there would be no smokers in the world, no one would ever drink Scotch, and the caviar industry would collapse.

And no one would ever have heard of Schöenberg, which would suit me fine.

The opinions expressed herein are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect--well, yes, come to think of it, I guess they do.