mimi smartypants
Seriously, though: what's with the penguins?

from Manhattan and not a bum


Recently I have seen more than one person buy a bagel and then tear out the inside of the bagel, leaving a bread shell. When I spoke of this odd behavior, my coworker said that it was called a “scooped” bagel, and that in fact at some bagel shops you can order the bagel thusly, and the bagel-wallah will mutilate the bagel per your request.

Why? What miniscule percentage of carbohydrate calories are you saving by doing this? If you consider bread and grains to be bad for you, how about not eating them? Or wait; maybe it’s not a health thing at all. Maybe you are making a canal to fill with MORE delicious fatty cream cheese than could otherwise fit on the flat surface of the bagel. In that case, I approve.


I live very close to my gym, close enough to walk or bike, although the times when I go there at 5 am (not often) are not the times when I feel like walking or biking. So I drive, but I have a weird amount of Garage Fear at 5 am, such as that someone is going to be hiding in there, or that a ghostly voice will speak to me from behind the rakes and leaf-collecting bags, or that when I hit the button to raise the garage door a murderer will be standing there. I suppose it would have to be a paranormal, Freddy-Kruger-style murderer, who somehow knew that I was going to the gym at 5 am that day. Or else a very patient, regular murderer who was willing to stand there all night on the off-chance I might get an early-morning gym jones.


Remember the Anal Game? (Do I ever, you say. Whew. Oh wait, a clickable link, let’s see what that’s all about.) I have recently driven by some newer-model cars that worked great with that game. My favorites were the Anal Compass (where are we? oh yes, the anus), the Anal Endeavor (onward!), the Anal Enclave (so private), and the Anal Armada (grande y felicisima!)


I stopped eating meat the minute a parent stopped cajoling me to do so, and these days my not-eating-(very-much)-meat is a weird combination of the following:

(a) I don’t like it. (Although see weaselly loophole below.)

(b) I do think it’s wrong, on a strictly utilitarian level of “why does a desire for tasty protein trump an animal’s desire to NOT DIE.”

(c) It has been a long time since I have considered meat “a thing I eat.” (I guess you can refer to the WL for this too.)

(Weaselly Loophole: I eat salmon, sushi, or fishsticks probably a few times a year. On Chinese New Year, I also eat the spicy popcorn chicken thing at my favorite Chinatown restaurant. I try to pick the pieces that are mostly breading, but yeah, I’m eating some chicken. Sorry chickens. That restaurant makes you too damn delicious.)

I don’t know why I started typing about this. Oh yes! The other day Nora and I were starving before her haircut appointment, and we had some time to kill, so we went up the street from the salon to this hot dog joint. And what do you know, they serve a “Treehugger’s Special” which is a vegetarian hot dog, fries, and a soda for five bucks.

Oh man. I am not a person who misses meat. However, I think I had been missing condiments. A (mostly) vegetarian diet has a slight lack of things to put mustard on. And this place further dresses up the faux dog with the typical pickle, celery salt, onions, neon-green relish, all of it. And I gobbled up that thing like it was the last food on earth and am already scheming about when I can go back for more Chicago not-dog goodness. Is this the slippery slope to the faux gyro, the fake Italian beef, the fraudulent chorizo burrito? Probably not, but still: so good.


I have boring health “issues.” On the one hand, I realize that I am lucky that they’re boring. On the other, I’m bored.

I have a dramatically dropping hemoglobin/red cell count that has my doctors a bit freaked. It’s been at least one point lower every time I have had blood drawn, which, because of these abnormal results, has been about once a week. (STOP TAKING ALL MY BLOOD!) Because this is happening right after the Vomit Episode (see last entry), I have to go see a gastroenterologist. Who is going to be super-annoyed with me, because I have no gastroenterological symptoms at all. I will say hey, not my problem, the other doctors sent me here. I guess.

When I got cranky and asked my main doctor why I have to see the gastroenterologist despite the complete absence of related problems, she said something about ruling out internal bleeding. I asked the obvious question—whether one could really have internal bleeding without knowing something about it and the answer was a very CYA “possibly.” I find that disturbing, that your body could just quietly do something dramatic and lethal on the inside and not bother to tell you about it.

Pretty sure I do not have internal bleeding. I probably just have crappy blood. Terrible, awful, second-rate, shoddily constructed blood. Maybe I should put a “Donate” button on my site, but for blood instead of cash. Can anyone PayPal me some blood?

Although it’s slowly improving, LT is also having a recurrence of his back thing, so he never wants to sit down ever. He has rigged up a standing desk and we have some strange meals at the kitchen counter. It is a good thing we live in the city and almost never have to drive, that’s all I can say.


However, LT does not need to sit down in order to have spring-break sexytime, which led to an odd marital encounter in our bathroom while our child was outside using the pushmower on the back yard. I think that counts as a major parenting win.

Juvenile spring break activities have included playing with neighborhood children, hanging with both me and her sitter on alternate days, the zoo, rollerblading, nature walks, and fighting the power. Or at least looking grumpy about the power.

And on one less-than-stellar weather day, she tied an elastic exercise band to her ankles and used it to launch stuffed animals. Fun is where you find it.

—mimi smartypants says go find something to do.