Of Bones, Spoons, Fish Heads and Other Particulate Matter

My two nieces are about the most brilliant and beautiful two girls you can imagine, full of light, magic and love from the second they were born.  But I confess that I never knew how prodigiously talented they were until this past Christmas, when I was gifted some of the finest artwork these two eyes have ever seen.

Understand that one of the first responsibilities I took on as an uncle was to teach my nieces how to fake throw up.  Most people don't realize there's a real art to it.  You can't just stick out your tongue, mutter a couple of halfhearted 'blahs' and expect to be taken seriously.  A good fake heave is a full commitment of body and spirit.  I passed on what I knew to the girls.  They channeled it through their pens.

What follows springs part from fancy and part from reality.

This from Seda:

Like Picasso's Guernica, there's a lot for the critic to chew on here.  Central to the piece, however, is the self portrait just left of center.  As Seda vomits, a cascade of bones, spoons, fish heads and other particulate matter issues forth, corrupting everything and everyone in its path.  Spectators look on with a mix of horror and delight.  The baby 'Willyum' makes his way with zeal toward what looks to be a tasty puddle.  Only Isla appears indifferent to the proceedings, more fascinated by the recycling bin than by what is being recycled from her sister's gullet.  No identity has as yet been assigned to the mysterious 'girl' meandering conspicuously through the scene.  Though rife with political themes, the major undercurrent is thought to reflect Seda's attitude toward the reelection of President Obama, which, she is documented as having said on election night, 'makes me wanna puke.'

And this by Isla:

Though both depict what appear to be the same jettisoned meals, Isla's masterwork in modern realism stands in stark contrast to her sister's chaotic tableau.  Working with an almost obsessive attention to detail, the artist renders the moment with a photographic clarity.  Here, a green geyser bursts forth from my grinning visage--bones, spoons, fish heads and other particulate matter purged with a hurricane force.  As my sometimes-nauseous wife looks on, the terror in her eyes tells one of the great truths of regurgitation: vomit begets vomit.  The sight and smell of this discharge will soon overpower her, and summon forth her own foul payload of bones, spoons, fish heads and other particulate matter.

As an uncle, I couldn't be more proud of my girls.  These I will keep and treasure forever, Seda and Isla, until that day comes when I can sell them for mad bank on ebay.

nwb

Spilling My Guts in 2013

I wanted to start the blogging year on a motivational note.  Here's the thing: I like New Year's resolutions.  Even if they are 99% self-deluding nonsense, I enjoy seeing the calendar roll over and pushing the reset button while pronouncing a few probably non-starting self-improvement initiatives.  Winter is a grind, after all, and I don't see anything wrong with setting some goals that will never be reached as a way of braving the cold dark months ahead.  I wanted to blog something about how I was going to 'positively own 2013.'  'Destroy 2013.'  'Make mincemeat of 2013.'  I was going to talk about how 2012, the greatest year of my life, the year I got to know my son and revel in raising him with my sometimes-popular wife, would serve as a launching pad for an even more awesome 2013.

Then I threw up.

Boston, Massachusetts was the site of 2013's MLA Conference.  My wife was there for an undisclosed number of job interviews, possibly to determine where we'll spend the rest of our lives.  I was there for support.  While she was nailing her interviews, I watched over the McBonerito.  All was going well until the final night in our comfortable room in the Sheraton.

The nausea that woke me at around 2AM told me I was in for it.  Between intermittent spells of sleep, I suffered chills and aches.  Stomach flu, for certain.  I longed for a quick resolution, but was condemned to moan and roll in bed until dawn.  At last, 6 AM was the appointed hour.  The nausea now acute, I leap out of bed and hustled to the bathroom, just as my guts unleashed their fury.

One, two, three violent heaves sent a steak and bean burrito surging into the toilet.  I lingered a moment, regarding the frothy mix of beef and red legumes.  On the surface, browned cilantro leaves floated--little lily pads on a putrid pond from hell.

Subsequent wretches summoned less recognizable matter: breakfast's egg, cheese and sausage bagel was a warm, curdled sludge that sank quickly to the bottom.

A final few hacks of yellow bile signaled the end.  After mopping up the spatter and brushing my teeth for an hour, I staggered back to bed.  I would spend the day in a diminished state, so weakened that every task was insurmountable.  My 14-month-old son easily overwhelmed me during a routine diaper change.  Were he of a more sinister nature, he could have taken my arm behind my back and made me cry "uncle."  But he's a good and reasonable lad, and he eventually consented to having his loins regirded. 

After wrapping up some final Boston business that day, we hit the road.  At well past the stroke of 2 AM, 24 hours after the stomach fun began, we found ourselves crawling thankfully into our own bed.  The trip was overwhelmingly positive, but after having my ass handed to me by the flu and negotiating the long route from Boston to Chicago to West Lafayette, IN, I find myself humbled.  Perhaps further posts will see me 'taking 2013 by storm,' but for now I'll reflect on that semi-digested mess in the toilet and remember that a few microbes can topple even the mightiest of bloggers.

Oh, and I wanted to say goodbye to 2012 with a final birding list, so here's that:

Birds sighted, 12/29:

Junco
Cardinal
Goldfinch
Mourning dove
House finch
House sparrow
Downy woodpecker
Red-headed woodpecker
Chickadee
Tufted titmouse
Red-breasted nuthatch
White-breasted nuthatch
Carolina wren
Blue jay
Starling
Red-tailed hawk

nwb

More Highlights from the McBone Mailbag

That's it, Kid Shay.  Let it all out.

Though it is highly irregular for us to publish more than one letter within a two year span, this one so tickled our fancy we thought it deserved an audience more far flung than the population of our mailroom:

Dear McBone,

This morning I threw up.  It was the first time in many years - I can't actually remember the last time I vomited.  It took me by complete surprise.  I'm not sick, didn't eat anything bad (that I know of).  I just threw up.

It was after breakfast.  I normally take two pills each morning: Glucosamine and Vitamin C.  Glucosamine went down fine, as usual.  When I tried to take the C pill, though, something strange happened.  I wasn't able to swallow it.  I tried once, twice, three times.  I couldn't figure out why I wasn't able to swallow all of a sudden.  I spit the pill out, then felt my stomach heave.  I made it to the sink in time to lose most of my breakfast.

I threw up thrice.  The first time was a bit chunky; I had cereal and tea, so it looked like that.  The second time it was more liquid, and the third time was a dry heave.

Isis said I hit a gag reflex by accident.  That sounds true.  I wasn't feeling off, and hadn't eaten differently this morning.  Now I'm at work and feeling (mostly) fine.

What a way to start the week.  My only consolation is that you'll get such a joy from reading this.

Kid Shay


Dear Kid,

You sure you didn't catch a glimpse of some Comic Sans this morning?  What kind of cereal, by the way?  Not Cookie Crisp, I hope!

nwb