mega-library doo doo

Recently, I visited our nation's top hat: Washington, District of Columbia.

I pooped while I was there.

But there's more:

I pooped in the National Archives [it's free admission there]. It was a Sunday. I had just seen the Constitution, the Declaration, the B. of R.s, etc. There were a lot of school groups floating around the building. I had several layers on and a heavy backpack, so it took me some time to set up for my work once I got into the stall. Thereupon, I realized I was one of two people in the bathroom. The other person, probably derived from one of the school groups, said, presumably to himself, that this must be the quietest bathroom in the world. After he left, I felt like his assessment was pretty good. It was a quiet building on a quiet winter Sunday, and there was just me, having a quiet poop.

Pooping in a library bathroom is one of the distinct pleasures in life. Pooping in one of the nation's ur-libraries is thus a sweet thing indeed.

PS - anyone ever call that NFL QB the mocking name of Bathromo?

stercus legis

I had jury duty three of the past seven days. The case was settled after I had already been empaneled, which is a little bit of a let down, honestly. Frankly, I can't imagine a less inconvenient time to serve on a civil case jury. Just a few days in between my semesters, no worries, a coupla bucks via check at the end. A chance for an intimate look at the world of the NY Court System. But no, eight more years before I get to try again...

Anyway, on the first day, before and during voir dire, I was in the process of holding it. I didn't want to be caught pants-around-the-ankles when my number was up. So until 1 in the afternoon, I was audibly not at ease. The med student patiently waiting next to me got an earful of something I'm not certain she could diagnose (she was just starting out in med school). Sometimes my belly does this when I don't permit it full access to pooping facilities - it starts to sing a little bit. A nice feature for me, but probably disconcerting to those around me, imagining smells that might not be there.

On the lunch hour, I got things done at a vegetarian Chinese restaurant. Ate some soy protein then made a deposit. No more howling in the afternoon. Never did get a chance to try out the crapper in the courthouse... hope I don't have to until 2019.

Happy Craps in 2011,

Dave

double pockets

The opposite of burning clean?

Sometimes in the wiping process, it never ends. You get the outer layer clean, but you are suspicious. It's definitely not over. You dig in a little, maybe find a clean corner here, messy corner there, but it's hard to know when it ends. In my wiping method (small pieces, never big wads), you go for more discrete attempts than you normally would: a bunch of small, targeted stabs at the end that constantly uncover new, yet-uncleaned pockets. You eventually give up figuring you've reached a stable equilibrium, but particularly on a hot or cold (and hence layered) day, that sweat or extra fabric feels really unsettling the rest of the day. And the next one is clean or whatever. And you take a shower eventually.

impossible

It is not possible to poop in space.

It is more possible to poop in a bank of snow.

Take care.

butter?

I just couldn't believe how much stool there was. Again.

[see last post... still on that vibe...]

Bernoulli report

Recently, an inverse relationship had made itself known. Namely:

-the frequency of my trips to duduk on the toilet seat have decreased, and relatedly

-the aggregate volume I deposit inside the toilet bowl has increased.

It's like you only go grocery shopping once a week but you buy a lot, instead of getting just what you need for that day.

If this occurs in the morning (the release of aggregate bolus), then it feels pretty satisfying. It also (the big load-drop) makes the smaller, more routine but equally meaningful deposits seem less significant, which is an illusion. Llord, give me clarity, or at least some celery (fiber, etc.).

quick (s)hits

1. Sometimes it takes some unpleasant flatulence to make you realize how much less often you fart than you used to. I suppose it was a social thing, growing up male with a male sibling and mostly male friends: farting is always greenlit. But I almost never fart outside the confines of the doo-doo room these days. So the last week has been notably for my general gassiness. That's a nice name for a small store: General Gassiness. Or a character. Feel free to spread that one around, I relinquish all rights on that name. But give me a little freebie when you strike it rich, huh? Remember who your gassy friend is. Hopefully it's just a phase.

2. After admiring some of my handiwork (visually) last week for its lighter-than-water properties, I was struck by how much a particular crap of the last 24 hours sunk. Everything's been so floaty of late, and now we're living on the other side of the bowl. What did I eat? Oh yeah... corn chips & bread that day... never really had dinner... thanks for nothing, road tripping. Actually it was great.