Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Death Takes An Extended, Open-Ended Holiday

As I'm sure I've mentioned previously, I had a routine medical checkup last December. Everything seemed okay, except that my cholesterol was the highest in recorded medical history a bit elevated. I’ve always had fairly high levels, but the ratio of good:bad has generally been okay, so I’ve never been prescribed anything for it. This time, however, the "doctor" said it had crept up to the point that we needed to address it. I said "Well, I’d like a second opinion." He said "Ok, you’re ugly, too!"

Ah, the classics.

Anyhoo, we gave a four-month shot at the "exercise" and "healthy diet" approach. I swear I had no idea that this quack was one of those holistic voodoo druid faith healers. With that kind of thinking, I’m surprised he didn’t have me handling snakes. Well, I went back in last week, and while the numbers had come down a decent amount, they still weren’t quite in his comfort zone.

Doctor: Well, Dead Acorn, it’s entirely up to you, but we might want to think about starting you on a very low dose of a statin drug, which will lower the LDLs.

Dead Acorn: If we’re going to start me on a prescription, why not put me on a high dose so I can rekindle my love affair with bacon?

Doctor (after a long pause): Why the hell not, I guess? If that’s the type of logic you use in making everyday decisions, you don’t have long to live, anyway. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve made it this far.

Dead Acorn: mmmMMMMmmmmm, bacon …

So I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I need to read around and see if the occasional late night Taco Bell* trip has a large effect on cholesterol or not. I’m told that alcohol mostly affects triglycerides, of which mine, ironically, are fine, so I see absolutely no reason whatsoever to change my lifestyle in that regard. If you can think of any, please mention them in comments.

[Note to self: turn off comments before posting.]

Actually, I’m not particularly worried about death, because I’ve long known that there are certain important things that I have to say to a certain few people before I die. I will never say them; ergo, I will never die.

Suck on that, Grim Reaper!

I’m sure you’re all in awe of my impeccable logic. And speaking of impeccable logic, and the fact that we can’t speak of impeccable logic without imagining Mr. Spock (smooth segue, Dead Acorn!), I stumbled across this on the googlewebs the other day:

Above: Rock-Paper-Scissors-Spock-Lizard, (from Sam Kass' website via Crooks & Liars)

Your homework is to memorize this, as it will be played for pink slips** at Le Pub.

* The last two times I've been on a late-night Taco Bell run, the girl at the counter has said "seven hardshells?" (apparently my standard order) as soon as I walked in the door***, so the visits may have been slightly more than "occasional." I've vowed to stop, and not just because there's a Taco Time that's closer.

** Not for cars. The loser has to actually wear a pink slip the next time he/she is at the bar.

*** This is absolutely true. I'm not proud.

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