Inhuman Swill : Page 194
Why is my blog called Inhuman Swill? Because you can unscramble the pieces to make William Shunn.

Sunday's index

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204.0 and rising.

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Friday's index

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203.5 and falling.

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'Ware pr0n, BYU students!

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This quiz comes by way of [info]pould, of course. Who else?

Too bad "caffeine" is misspelled.
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Accurate to 0.5 pounds

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I've become a little obsessed with tracking my weight-loss progress, and so yesterday I bought a digital scale that also uses BIA—in other words, electrical resistance—to calculate body fat percentage. The body fat calculation is not guaranteed to be accurate, but it is promised to give consistent results so you can chart relative progress.

I've been stalled in the low 200s weightwise, and the inconsistent zeroing of our analog scale was making it hard for me to know how I was really doing on a relative basis day-to-day. Hopefully the digital scale will change that. By the way, I was 204.0 lbs this morning. The body fat percentage is my business.

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Just the two of us

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On another scary topic, Salon.com advice columnist Cary Tennis yesterday echoed my own thoughts about polyamory, but more articulately than I've ever managed:

Salon.com: Significant others

YMMV, and probably does, but he sure nails my own experience.

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New York's open wounds

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I looked up from my Visor to realize that the guy who had just say down across from me had a hideous open wound on his check, and blood running down his face. Then I realized it was Halloween and the wound was just makeup. Whew!

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R.I.P. Jam Master Jay

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Yum

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I seem to be getting the eggs down just fine. They're cold, but what the hell.

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The joy of acid reflux

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Just had the mother of all acid-reflux attacks. It's probably the worst one I've had since the episode at Republic two years ago that led to my diagnosis.

Got to work at 6:50 this morning for some scheduled maintenance on the Web site, and my boss and I ordered breakfast from a local diner. I had eaten just two strips of bacon when it started. (I know, I know.) The sharpness in my throat was incredible, and the sensation of my throat closing off was doing its damnedest to convince me that I was in danger of losing my airway. I had to remember to take deep breaths, because as much as it feels like I can't breathe, I really can. Still, I was light-headed by the time it was all over, after all the burping and coughing up big globs of acid and saliva and the incredibly painful hiccuping, bewteen which I was walking around the office with my arms over my head.

I tried to swallow some Pepto-Bismol my boss brought me, but I don't think it even made it all the way to my stomach. The next glob of spit was all pink. He helpfully went to Duane Reade for some Pepcid AC, of which I took three once I felt I could successfully swallow. Nice Catch-22 there—the medicine has to actually get to the stomach to be helpful.

Anyway, I'm weak and shaky now, and my throat is raw, but the attack seems to be over. I'm glad to know that at least I don't panic anymore when this happens. It's terribly unpleasant, but I'm pretty level-headed through it all.

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The Accidental Terrorist 30th Anniversary Sale

Signed editions
that even a
missionary
could afford.

Order yours now!

William Shunn

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