Geek Soap Box

Diagram stolen shamelessly from Wikipedia

Much like the wonders of the world beyond the Earth, the intricacies of the human body fascinate me to no end.  That a seemingly unending array of complex, specialized cells, proteins, and amino acids work together to perform the life-sustaining functions of metabolism is a miracle in and of itself, be it one of divine inspiration or evolutionary accident (or perhaps a bit of both).

Take the gastrointestinal tract.  Literally, the system is a giant, 20-foot-long tunnel through your body starting at the mouth and ending in the old posterior.  Through that span, nearly a dozen different organs churn and digest materials that pass through, extracting the good stuff for continued sustenance and expelling the rest in a familiar form.  Again, unless it’s physically absorbed, the food that passes through you technically never enters your body; it just takes a detour through a tunnel/cavity built through you for that express purpose.

Yet, if something goes wrong in this process, damned if it doesn’t feel like the world is coming to an end.

I met a college buddy for dinner the other night at Smith and Wollensky’s steakhouse to catch up and celebrate his new-found engagement.  Over the course of the meal, I managed to consume:

• 1 whole portion of buffalo mozzarella and tomato salad;
• 24 oz. ribeye steak (heavily marbled)
• 1/2 side order creamed spinach
• 1/2 side order hashed brown potatoes (a complementary gift from the restaurant)
• various breads and butter
• 2 very large and strong vodka tonics

This was now nearly 48 hours ago, and still my insides have not recovered.  For much of yesterday, my stomach gurgled an uneasy rhythm while my digestive system fought to violently remove the large volume of content contained therein. My head has alternated between massive throbbing and the spins of vertigo.  Commutes to and from work have proven perilous journeys indeed, filled with fear and trepidation that the wrong things could happen at the wrong time.

Even now, after a benign lunch of warm tea, white rice, and bland grilled chicken, I’m still not feeling myself.  Will this journey into indigestion ever end?  Will I finally be able to stop popping Zantac and Immodium as if they were candy chiclets?  How can one tunnel that’s not actually even in your body influence it so?

All that wonderful imagery aside, at least this episode has convinced me to NEVER attempt to undertake one of those 78 oz. “challenges” they have at many steakhouses.