BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

It’s true.

Food goes in, goes through a series of bio-chemical processes that break it down into nutrients our body can use, then the waste material shoots out the other end. Sometimes at a pretty good clip, especially if fermentable fiber was in your diet.

Now, I could go into all of the technical stuff, such as Ptyalin – the enzyme in saliva that converts starches to sugar. Peristalsis – the muscular contractions that enable you to swallow, as well as move the Chyme along until it becomes full blown poop. Pyloric sphincters… and on, and on. But, this isn’t an anatomy lesson, nor is it a biology class.

You see, the thing about poop is that whenever mentioned around my daughter, she immediately goes into the screwy faced “ewwwwww” mode, and runs from the room. Why? Well, I guess because poop is kinda gross. And, she’s a girl. Not being sexist here, just stating an observation. Boys tend more toward “potty humor” than girls. It’s a societal fact.

So, by now I suppose you are wondering why I am even talking about poop. I mean, after all, it’s not like Christmas is all that close just yet. If you don’t get that reference, just check out Southpark and it’ll make more sense.

No, the thing here is that poop, as a general rule, isn’t something one talks about in polite company. Sort of… I say “sort of” because poop suddenly becomes a viable topic of conversation – be it at the bar, dinner table, watercooler, what have you, when at least one of three criteria are met.

1. You are a child.
2. You have a child.
3. You are over 40.

Why?

Well, let’s break it down.

First, when you’re a kid, poop happens. Generally in your pants. Therefore, folks out to make a quick buck have gone to great lengths to make animated shows and silly songs about pooping. “She’s/He’s A Super Dooper Pooper”… Elmo does Potty Training… It goes on and on. So, for kids, poop is a perfectly acceptable subject not only for conversation, but for songs and cartoons as well.

But at some point poop becomes a “dirty little secret.” It’s as if once you have learned where to deposit the poop and all of the “paperwork” involved with making said deposit, “The Poo” is now “Taboo.”

This poop moratorium lasts for several years – either until you have a kid, or if you skip that joy, until you turn approximately 40.

Now, when you have a kid, what you have basically done is created for yourself an eating and pooping machine. That’s pretty much all they do for the first year or two. Eat, poop, eat, poop. When they start walking and talking, then they not only eat and poop, they make art with it and tell you about it. You become jaded to the concept of poop. It’s a normal thing. The only time it isn’t is when something changes about the poop. But, that doesn’t stop you from talking about it. Not at all. In fact, it pretty much spurs conversation. There you are, changing a diaper, and voila! You turn your head one way, then the other, giving it a good inspection. Open the shade for more light. Inspect it some more. Then, you call out to your wife:

“Honey! C’mere…”

“Why?”

“You gotta see this poop.”

“Why?”

“It’s shaped like Justin Bieber’s head. You gotta see it.”

“Hold on while I get the camera.”

See what I mean? Shapes, sizes, colors, quantities.  Poop just becomes a part of normal conversation. Next thing you know, you’re telling everyone at work about the Justin Bieber Shaped Poop, or the industrial adhesive quality of the last diaper you changed, and you aren’t fazed in the least. Other parents are right there on the same page with you. Hell, they even want to see the pictures of the poop head. But, be warned, some of your younger co-workers  who are childless may be put off by this, especially if the subject comes up in the lunch room.

Our third option comes about as we age. Poop – or more accurately, Pooping, becomes an important part of your day. If you don’t offload that pastrami sandwich and half a package of Oreos, then you just don’t feel quite right. And, of course, since your metabolism is changing, the doctor starts offering up advice.

“Doc, I haven’t pooped in two weeks.”

“How much fiber do you have in your diet?”

“Fiber… Well… I accidentally bit a piece off a Popsicle stick last month and swallowed it. Does that count?”

“Not enough. Go to the feed store, get yourself a bale of hay. Eat 5 large helpings a day for three days straight, drink 47 gallons of water, and then lock yourself in the bathroom with a clothespin and a copy of People magazine.”

“I don’t like People magazine. Can I take a Playboy instead?”

“No. This isn’t a recreational visit.”

Then, just to take things a step further, as if we really need to do so – when you hit 50 another MD hands you a bottle of Drano for your intestines, then wants to stick a camera up your wazoo… Yeah, the greeting card companies have actually come up with a “Congratulations on your Colonoscopy” card. Go figure. So, if you think poop was okay to talk about at 40, then 50 should be a breeze because it’s definitely all about the poop when you hit the half-century mark.

And, speaking of Intestine Drano – Even the OTC drug companies are all over this. Just for fun they bombard you with it daily. There are more products out there designed to expel the poop from your body than there are to stop it from leaving. (Whether or not that statistic is really true, I have no idea. I just made it up. But then, this is a satire blog…)

Seriously though, check the aisle at your local Pharmacy. Plenty of poop aids. You can usually find them near the 57 brands of TP and sphincter wipes.

So, there you have it. Everybody poops. TV personalities, porn stars, the guy at the 7-11, authors, bloggers, doctors, lawyers, cobblers, butchers, bakers and candle stick makers. Everybody. Although, I have to admit, I’m not so sure about politicians and/or Justin Bieber, but that’s a different blog.

The thing is, it’s just one of those facts of life. Therefore, even if you don’t have a kid and aren’t over 40, go ahead and make it a fun topic of conversation without any stigma. It’s only poop. Embrace it.

Just don’t get any of it on me…

More to come…

Murv

I used to wonder if my family had ties to Mexico. We’ll get to why in just a bit…

If you happen to follow me on Facebook you probably saw a status update last week lamenting the fact that I had a fairly obnoxious Christian witnessing to me. She’s actually a nice lady, but she’s a little too passionate about her beliefs – literally to the point of being outright disrespectful about anything that doesn’t match her way of thinking – which, as she tells it, it God’s way of thinking. But, I’m not here to get into that… Suffice it to say, I received just as much advice on how to handle her from my FB friends as I did advice from her in the first place. My bad. I probably should have kept the whole thing to myself. But, again, I’m not here to get into that…

You see, on the heels of all that, I attended a family reunion – EKay’s side. This portion of the family, much as I love them, are also deeply ingrained in their religious beliefs. All good. However, some of them take the same approach as the young lady I dealt with the previous week – that being that even the simplest of conversations must be turned into a witnessing and/or sermon. At past gatherings this has forced me to excuse myself and go hide. This go around, fortunately, I was spared such, and had a great time. But, again, this has little to do with my suspicion of a Mexican heritage – or does it?

Here’s the thing: Being at odds about religion is nothing new to me. Portions of my own family were just as ingrained in their beliefs, especially on my Dad’s side. In fact, my grandfather literally “ran the pews” at his church. Whenever I would spend summers back in Kentucky, working on the farm, Wednesday and Sunday always involved Church. A lot of it. And there were other Church events – suppers, picnics, etc – where I would end up as well.

Again – where does this south of the border heritage thing come in?

Well, my grandfather would say grace at every meal. Now, while I may have been at odds with them about religion, by the same token I was respectful about it as long as I wasn’t being beat over the head too badly. So, when grace would come around I would bow my head, remain silent, and listen. My grandfather, Joe Sellars, would invoke Jesus, request blessings upon the food, the land, the family, and anyone else sitting at the table. If someone else needed to be included in the prayers they were, and then he would wind down to the end. As he approached the final “amen,” his mumble would become less intelligible – at least, to me. For years I struggled to understand what he was saying but never could quite put a finger on it, other than to the best of my hearing he was saying: Fiesta now and then, uh-huh…

Given that Joe Sellars ran the pews at the church, I think maybe there’s something to that. Apparently he was more of a “partier” than I ever knew.

I had it in my head that I was going to save this story for the magnum opus autobiography I would write in coming years, but since I really doubt anyone much cares to read about how I got up, went to work, then came home, over and over again for 400 pages, I thought maybe I’d just put it here.

But, who knows? Maybe something interesting will happen before I kick off, and I WILL write that autobiography anyway. If I do I think I’ll go ahead and call it, Fiesta Now And Then…

Just for fun I’ll have the release party in Water Valley, Kentucky and hold it on Cinco de Mayo…

More to come…

Murv