Things That Make Me Go “That’s Nasty”
As I’ve said before, I often find myself trapped in situations where I’m locked in a room with a lot of people who really enjoy the sound of their own voice. Oddly, this normally happens when we’re discussing arcane subjects that I have zero hope of ever truly understanding, such as network server architecture, unstructured database query and management, and Canadian Bacon.
While I have strong opinions about Canadian Bacon (its Canadian but not bacon), the rest mainly leaves me feeling like a pig staring at a wristwatch in hope of enlightenment and understanding. During these moments of abject failure to even understand what people are talking about, I will naturally react like any good primate and search for things that I can entertain myself with. I’ve found that rolling my shit into balls and throwing it is very cathartic but generally frowned upon in these conference-room situations. Lucky for me – no, for everyone else in the room – there is the Internet.
So being a tool-using animal, I whip out my BlackBerry and pry entertainment out of the generica. One gem that piqued my dim interest was the notion that given the variable but inexorable rates of replacement of all the different types of cells in our bodies, we essentially renew ourselves about every seven years. This means that today I am quite literally a totally different organism than I was in 2004. For some reason this sounds a lot like a slow-motion Star Trek transporter accident. This explains a lot, but mainly makes me think, “Holy Crap! Where did I go?”
Some more investigation yields up the fact that in four years, I will shed the equivalent of my own weight in dead skin. I have to admit that even for someone for whom the term “TMI” will never be uttered, this pushes the limits of that tolerance. Knowing how light dead skin is from sunburn recovery, I now really, really want to know what a 230-pound pile of dead skin looks like.
Of course, my muntinous brain, ever looking for a way to torture me, immediately provides me with a useless fact that was stored carefully and dutifully passed off from neuron to neuron at least three or four times. That fact would be: typical household dust is primarily composed of human skin. So the beer math says that had I not dusted in the past year, I would be existing in the midst of close to eighty pounds of Used Rants that would coat every surface in my house. That’s nasty.
I won’t mention the whole dust mite dynamic, because that’s really nasty.