16 May 2014
0714 hrs
Good
Morning Once Again, Patient Reader . . .
Well, it’s
another Friday. I’ve almost made it
through another one; a week, that is.
They just keep on coming and going, don’t they?
SO I am
sure that some of you who are around my age (and you can surmise what that age
is by now), feel that age. Some of you
feel older, and some feel younger and what do we do about that?
I feel like
I am thirty years old; chronic arthralgia notwithstanding. But there is grey in my beard and, though I
look a bit younger when I shave, I know it’s there, and I sometimes wonder who
that old man is that stares back at me from the mirror.
Where did I
go? And when was I replaced by this
wizened old soul that does what I do from the other piece of the glass?
Sure, I am
tired from being over-stretched, but I know we all are. It’s a non-stop world and this is the reason,
In My Never-Humble Opinion, that folks have so many health problems,
nowadays. We all know someone from a
previous generation who lived well into their nineties, and of all the ones I
have met, none of them lived on grass.
They were all carnivores of the first magnitude, eating red meat and eggs
and lard and drinking whole milk . . .
For those of
you who may not know this: whole milk contains a little over 3% fat and 8% milk
solids by weight, and around half the calories in milk are from this fat. Hmm.
Compare that with 2% milk, and you’ll see that it’s really not that much
of a difference. It is widely and
erroneously thought that 2% means 2% of a 100%, but really, it just means it’s
comprised of one-third, less fat than whole.
I don’t recall great-grandma drinking a glass of 2% ever in her whole
life.
When I was
a teenager, I went to a small town where my girlfriend (at the time) grew
up. It was a ranch-type atmosphere, and
in fact, there was an apricot orchard they tended and sheep were raised there,
too. Please; no sheep jokes. I’ll make all of the disgusting jokes around
here, thank you very much!
Well, for
breakfast I remember that every pitcher of milk (yes, pitcher as in glass pitcher)
needed to be stirred before pouring to mix all the fat and milk solids that had
settled. And it was the best effing milk
I ever tasted. Mmmm.
(c) Properfessor
And I love
half-and-half in my coffee, don’t y’all?
Good shit, indeed.
Of course,
bacon is the candy of meat. Let me tell
you about the dish I prepared last night.
Except for the bacon, I liken it to a Mediterranean-style dish I’ll call
Chicken Cunning Fennec Fox.
I started
out with a whole chicken, and with a rub made of crushed red pepper, garlic,
and S+P, I put this in the cavity and under the skin that sheathed the breast
meat. I rolled and coated a lb. of figs
and did the same with the organ meats and the neck. I stuffed all of that back into the cavity,
leaving half the figs out.
Then came
the bacon . . . The Aforementioned Meat Candy.
Yumbolicious.
I slid four slices under the skin sheathing the breasts, and
then stiffed the rest in the chicken cavity at the neck and the ass. Oh, I forgot: I placed mixed nuts in the
cavity with the figs.
I covered
the whole mixture with a mushroom,
garlic, and lentil soup mixed with a garlic
and hot pepper sauce, allowing the rest of the figs to stew. Six hours in the crockpot later, I had the
most delicious spicy chicken I do believe I have ever had.
A
cardiovascular dream (nightmare?) come true.
OK. I come from the field of medicine and I know
the health risks involved with such a diet.
But here’s how I see it: I would
rather die at 50 after enjoying a lifetime of treating my taste buds to a world
of exquisite pleasure than I would live to 90 and die with a belly full of
celery.
Jesus, I can’t imagine all of
you out there that want to live past say, 70 years, anyway. Who wants to spend the last years of their
lives not knowing who the fuck they are and sitting in a diaper full of
fresh-squeezed turds?
Yeah, I
know that some of you will have a productive life well into their 90s, and
bully for you.
In this day and age
things don’t work out so well for the rest of us. Alzheimer’s Dz and Parkinson’s and Organic
Brain Disease and dementia are running rampant. CAD and CVA and all the rest of those horrible
diseases and conditions have increased exponentially over the last few decades,
again, not from our diets necessarily, but from the cortisol and its related
hormones that have been linked to the above conditions. All thanks to stress. Even in obesity, there is a correlation to
cortisol, a stress hormone.
Love Me By My Grave
(c) Properfessor
So y’all
keep running that treadmill, both literally and figuratively. Run your kids to daycare and to dance and to
soccer and to play dates and get to the cleaner before 1800 hrs and get home
and make dinner and watch The Voice and get the kids to brush their teeth and
off to bed and get up at 0430 and start the fucking ritual all over again.
I’m going
to remember all of the things I have done in my life, which I think has been a
full one; full of my own experiences; some unique, some not; all of them
mine.
I will live
until life is no longer free of unendurable pain. No meds for me at that point. That’s when it’s time to eat a shotgun.
I shall live and die on my own terms, and
will not be diminished by the brevity of my life. I’m every bit as unafraid of the Spectre of
Death as I am the Horrors of the Living World, this physical plane.
(c) Properfessor
Come when
it will, should I step in front of a bus.
Could happen tomorrow, but I’ll have a belly full of Chicken Cunning
Fennec Fox. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll be killed by a jealous
husband. It’s been known to happen.
So I leave
you to your day, Patient Reader. May you
be well, and as happy as your life will allow you to be. May you and yours stay together as long as
you can and still keep the will to live.
May your dreams, the ones not yet murdered by this terrible and
beautiful place, see the light of day, and may you make the very best possible
of the time you have left.
So shall I
leave you to it?
Splendid!
Always I remain,
The Cunning Fennec Fox
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