Thinking of Lard

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Me…ice water challenge…last summer

For clarity – I.  Am.  Fat.

I am not overweight.  I am not undertall.  I am not large, rotund, or whatever other polite phrasing can be employed to describe the mass of my body.

I.  Am.  Fat.

But I’m not unhealthy.  The ticker still works.  The mind is sharp as a tack (granted, a little rusty, but I digress…).  The plumbing takes what I eat and converts it to energy and waste products without bias or complaint.  I take zero prescription meds or supplements.  I will occasionally cop to taking an analgesic for various aches and pains that come from 29+ years walking this Earth, and fully admit that I’ve slowed to a leisurely pace in my daily activities.

Now, If you believe the health fascists out there – I should be either dying, or dead. I should be regularly pestering my doctor about this ache or that pain.  I should never leave his office without making a new appointment.  I should be on several prescription medications to moderate my heart, my blood pressure, my cholesterol, my glucose levels, my emotional stability, and my bowels.

And I should be TERRIFIED by the horrible spectre of aging, determined to beat it off with a large, heavy object.

Wait – I AM a large, heavy object! 😀

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Taco quiche…noms

It doesn’t end there, unfortunately.  According to those ‘in the know’ in Public Health, I should also be regularly beating myself up over what I choose to put in my mouth, and self-flagellating over my lack of determination in the gym.  And for the icing on this cake (mmmmmm – cake….) my doctor, my publicly-elected officials, and the public at large should all be more than happy to assist in my flogging.

for my own good, of course…

Why is everyone in the field of Public Health worried over what I do with my body?  It’s not their body – it’s mine.  They don’t feel the ache in the back that comes from sleeping flat.  They don’t feel the stubbed toe.  They don’t have to clean the glasses that perch on my nose.  They don’t know that Orange Milano cookies are a confection that makes my tongue sing in joy, and Sauerkraut and Dumplings is the traditional Christmas dinner of my family.

They refuse to acknowledge that I am a thinking adult, capable of making my own decisions, and living with the consequences of them.

Everywhere I turn – there they are.  Bemoaning the health of our nation.  Wringing their hands in agony over the obesity epidemic, the smoking epidemic, the sugar epidemic, the lack of proper funding to assist them in the wars they are waging on health and decency and common sense epidemic…

Oh…wait…no…that’s accurate.  Nevahmind…

Waving around another half-baked study which tells the masses that they are doing it all wrong! even though it was their advice in the first place.

Fat is bad for you!                                                          Not ALL fat is bad for you!

Eggs are bad for you!                                                    Eggs are good for you!

Alcohol is evil!                                                            A glass of wine may have benefits.

Smoking,       salt,           sugar,          trans fats,             cholesterol,             tri-glicerides

QUAKE IN FEAR, PUNY MORTALS!!!!!!!!! 

Sorry – I’m too busy being irritated…

There is a rather old bit floating out there on the ‘net about ordering pizza after the scourge of “Public Good” has convinced the masses that what they do is for ‘your own good.’   I’ll leave it to you to decide if this is just ♦bullshit, or just ♦around the corner.

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Beating up the Fags

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**Warning*

*Disclaimer*

*Abandon all Hope ye who Enter Here**

This is not a typical post for me – this is a very political, very social, very disparaging rant – consider yourself warned 😀

A friend of mine across the pond was on a bit of a cigarette regulation rant himself the other day – and called an e-cigarette the Electrofag – which is why the British slang for a smoke is floating around in my head.

So – as Heisenberg says – ‘Relax…..’  This is a rant about cigarette regulation…not about the homosexual population – some of which I consider great friends.

I used to smoke.

I liked to smoke.

I wasn’t one of them weak-willed cig-suckers who bemoaned about addiction, and wanting to quit, and how awful the Corporate Tobacco masters were to make us their collective bitch, and how everyone should shed a tear for the poor, pitiful smoker who tried to hork out a lung when waking up in the morning because it WASN’T OUR FAULT!

mutter your favorite word for fecal material here…

I didn’t want pity.  I didn’t want a solution to my ‘horrible problem.’  I just wanted to exercise my right as an adult to perform this habit I chose to indulge in.

I.  Liked.  To.   Smoke.

I knew what it was doing to my body, and every once in a while, I’d get sick and tired of feeling a bit sick and tired, and put the smokes away for a few months.  But I was always back for 20 of my little white cylindrical buddies sooner or later.  Cold turkey was always my preferred method of quitting, as I had to get in the ‘I don’t wanna do this anymore’ mindset.

I.  Liked.  To.   Smoke.

Any time I bowed to societal pressure and attempted to quit ‘because everyone was doing it,’ ‘do it for your loved ones,’ or any of the other claptrap created to guilt smokers into giving up their habit, I was back at it within days…especially when using the NRT products offered by the friendly neighborhood Pharma House.

I.    Liked.     To.     Smoke.

When I got pregnant with both my boys – I gave up smokes.  Those were the easiest quits I did – the smoke made an already unstable stomach even more unstable.  Nothing like hugging Ralph (the porcelain god) after every cigarette to persuade oneself to give up the habit.  But after the kid popped out…here come my little round buddies in their square packs.

I.  Liked.  To.   Smoke.

It was the habit, the ritual, all the little quirky mannerisms that come WITH a cigarette that I desired more than the nicotine or the TSNA’s (Tobacco-Specific Nitrosamines) IN the cigarette.  Smokers will know exactly what I mean – the rest of you have no business judging until you’ve tried to give up an ingrained ritual of your own…say that first morning cup of coffee, the daily 5 mile run, or Saturday Night Sex-athons.

I.    Liked.    To.     Smoke.

Which is why it is so surprising to me that I am nearing my 6th year in a row without lighting a carbon-based plant substance on fire and sucking the results of that combustion deep into my lung tissue.

I quit smoking by finding a substitute which allows me to indulge in all the mannerisms and ritual, without that pesky smoke stinking up the place and coating my lungs with a layer of tar.  I use a vapor product.

And now – by some twisted quirk of fate – those same arrogant bastards who spent decades demonizing the lowly cigarette are intent on painting my shiny new habit with the same tarry brush.

Why?  Money.  Power.  Arrogance.  Chutzpah.  Compensating for smaller genitals or lack of a sex life?  At this point, anything is possible.

I watched the war against cigarettes unfold in all its ugly incarnations as one of many receivers of unwanted attention.  While it started with good, simple, and attainable directives (educate the public about the dangers of smoking, and more of the public will choose not to smoke), it has slowly morphed into a witch hunt reminiscent of the Salem Trials.  If things continue on down the same path they have been, I firmly believe the endgame will be to burn smokers at the stake – using their own brand of coffin nails instead of wood or straw to set the bonfire.

No…dammit…they won’t.  Second-hand smoke and all that might harm the cheeeeeeeeeeeeldren.

Believe me, or not, your choice.  But before you toss off a hate-filled rant in the comments section, stop.

Just for a second.

Stop.

Think.

Is your reaction to the smoking issue quick and heated?  Does your mind fill with various sound-bytes and memes demonizing the average Joe-smoker?  Guess what?  You’ve been groomed to respond in this manner – without thought, without introspection, without REALLY thinking it through.

Marinate on that for a bit….I’ll wait.

Just like Pavlov’s dog was taught to salivate at the sound of a bell…the majority of people who DON’T smoke have been conditioned to bare their fangs and growl at the slightest whiff of smoke – the very sight of someone lifting a cylindrical object to their mouths will ignite a deep-seated desire to prove they are less than you, beneath you…a proto-human it’s OK to hate.

And those who used to smoke?  That’s a combination of unfulfilled desire to once again partake mixed in with that same smarmy superiority ego-trip.  If I can quit, anyone can.  Just man up.

Have I gotten you to start thinking outside the programming yet?  Or – will you continue to let the architects of Public Hate Health ignite the flames (using specially-prepared ‘clean-burning’ wood so as not to add to the carbon-footprint of the world), certain they’ve got them damn smokers ground to a paste under their well-polished heels?

Time to shake off the programming, people…