Maybe later this year I will hit it again (though probably not on WordPress — I’m not a fan.). Keep your eyes and browser open for me, friends. Er, friend — nobody reads my silliness except Evan. Until then, keep on truckin. (I’ve always wanted to say that.)

Kisses,

Di

 
Tourist #1: What the hell is that?! What the hell is that?  What’s that danged thing doing here! How did that get here? What the hell is that?! [What the hell is that?! How’d that dang deal get here?!Hey! Come on over here and look at this deal!

Tourist #2: What the hell is that?

Tourist #1: I don’t know what the hell that is!

Tourist #2: What in the hell is that?!

Tourist #1: Hey, you kids! Get away from there!

Tourist #2: I would not mess with that thing..

Tourist #1: Don’t put your lips on it!

Tourist #2: What the hell is this?

Tourist #1: Well.. get a photo of me with it, anyway! 

Tourist #2: Be careful with that thing. Oh, I know what that is!

Tourist #1: Well, what the hell is it?!

Tourist #2: What is that thing..?

Tourist #1: I don’t even care what it is. What the hell is that?!

Tourist #2: I don’t know what the hell that thing is.

Tourist #1: Oh, I know what it is!

Tourist #2:  Oh, yeah.. oh yeah..

Tourist #1: What the hell was that?!

- 1979 SNL skit, featuring Bill Murray & Steve Martin. Lately, I cannot seem to get this one out of my head.

A smelly rotten-egg gas in farts controls blood pressure in mice, a new study finds.

The unpleasant aroma of the gas, called hydrogen sulfide (H2S), can be a little too familiar, as it is expelled by bacteria living in the human colon and eventually makes its way, well, out.

The new research found that cells lining mice’s blood vessels naturally make the gas and this action can help keep the rodents’ blood pressure low by relaxing the blood vessels to prevent hypertension (high blood pressure). This gas is “no doubt” produced in cells lining human blood vessels too, the researchers said.

“Now that we know hydrogen sulfide’s role in regulating blood pressure, it may be possible to design drug therapies that enhance its formation as an alternative to the current methods of treatment for hypertension,” said Johns Hopkins neuroscientist Solomon H. Snyder, M.D., a co-author of the study detailed in the Oct. 24th issue of the journal Science.

Snyder and his colleagues compared normal mice to mice that were missing a gene for an enzyme known as CSE, long suspected as being responsible for making hydrogen sulfide. As they measured hydrogen sulfide levels taken from tissues of the CSE-deficient mice, the scientists found that the gas was depleted in the cardiovascular systems of the altered mice. By contrast, normal mice had higher levels of the gas, thereby showing that hydrogen sulfide is naturally made by mammalian tissues using CSE.

Next, the mice were subjected to higher blood pressures comparable to serious hypertension in humans. Scientists had them respond to a chemical called methacholine that relaxes normal blood vessels. The blood vessels of the CSE-lacking mice hardly relaxed, indicating that hydrogen sulfide is a huge contender for regulating blood pressure.

Hydrogen sulfide is the most recently discovered member of a family of gasotransmitters, small molecules inside our bodies with important physiological functions.

This study is the first to reveal that the CSE enzyme that triggers hydrogen sulfide is activated itself in the same way as other enzymes when they trigger their respective gasotransmitter, such as a nitric oxide-forming enzyme that also regulates blood pressure, Dr. Snyder said.

Because gasotransmitters are common in mammals all over the evolutionary tree, these findings on the importance of hydrogen sulfide are thought to have broad applications to human diseases, such as diabetes and neurodegenerative diseases.

The research was supported by grants from the U.S. Public Health Service and the Canadian Institutes of Health Research as well as a Research Scientist Award.

Men the world over are celebrating today. No longer will they need to blame their ass outbursts on the dog or feign embarrassment at the movie theater. Now, every time a man tries to Dutch Oven his girlfriend he’ll say, “But, baby, I’m just trying to control my blood pressure. You DO want me to be healthy don’t you? Now, get back under that sheet.”

And you gotta love the title of this article. Yahoo News — classy as always. I suppose there’s a certain clarity to it.  Call a fart “a fart”, so to speak. Though I think it would have have a slightly more scientific tone to it if the header read: “Gasotransmitter Research Confirms Biological Need for Flatulatory Emissions.” Is ‘flatulatory’ a word? I don’t know. It just sounds better than the alternative.

Anywho, I worry that important research such as this will be lost under a new political regime. I demand that this important issue be addressed by Obama and McCain! After all, who wants to spend their hard-earned greenbacks on roads and schools? What a waste! I want to know about the biological hazards of breathing in noxious SBD fumes and if you really can die from holding one in on the elevator. I say call in the MythBusters to get to the bottom of these mysteries!

She underlines the f*ck scenes for you? Jesus! If she underlines the f*ck scenes for you, she must worship the ground you walk on.

- Reg Dunlop shares a bit of relationship insight (Slapshot)

Rest in peace, Paul. You lived life with dignity, class, and a smile. You will be sorely missed.

For today’s 80s Flashback, I’ve decided to share a personal post-80s story.

When I first moved to California, I used to work out at a gym in Manhattan Beach and developed a friendship with one of the managers. He was starting a health magazine with a few people and asked if I might like to get in on the deal, by helping with sales to HR departments at local corporations. I decided to explore the opportunity, but didn’t give any guarantees of my participation. So a meeting was set up to discuss the plan  with the rest of the team and introduce us all to the primary financial backer — the inventor of acid wash jeans!

Naturally, I was dying to meet this guy so I went to the meeting at his mansion in West Hollywood. A young, single woman, I fantasized that I would be introduced to a hot, rich dude who would sweep me off my feet, etc etc. Well, he WAS rich, he WAS single, and he WAS good-looking. However, he was also the gayest guy I’ve ever met. And I do not say that lightly.

The walls of his home were covered in massive paintings of cartoon sperm, the wine glass he handed me when I sat down on a lovely leather-topped penis-shaped stool had a pewter stem in the shape of a nude man’s thin body,… I can’t even remember everything because the place was jam-packed with expensive gay art. It was like man-love wonderland. Really nice, funny guy, but…WOW. Homoverdose.

I later chose not to work on the magazine deal, because I was just too busy with work. But I think of that crazy guy every time I see some old picture of those jeans.

Just imagine: all those Jordache worn by Midwestern Bible-thumpers helped pay for his silver testical door knocker. Makes me feel happy inside.

Ryan Reynolds is officially dead to me. He went and married that flabby, white, giant hoo-hoo girl this weekend.

I’m moving him to my Backup Boyfriend Boneyard, where he shall be buried along with Tim Matheson (he got old), Brad Pitt (he is a cheater), Shawn Cassidy (I grew up and realized he’s a dork), that dude I saw in a black shirt one time (he went into a store I don’t like), and the rest. I guess I have to move the Maroon Five guy and Jason Stratham up on the list. I might give Matt Damon a move up as well if he does another Bourne movie and wears a paper sack over his melon, since I only want to date his arms & shoulders.

I have no comment to share on this news and must retreat to my ice cream for the afternoon.

Hey, Jacky

It’s your birthday.

I came down from the stars and I’m here to say,

“Hey, Jacky! It’s your birthday…

Today!”

- bad personalized Hallmark song from the late 70s, which was packaged on a 45 (that’s an old-fashioned audio capture, kind of like a CD, kids).

I saved up a while to buy it for my brother’s birthday, because I believed it was the coolest gift ever. …Actually, it still is the coolest! Who wants a video-playing iPod when you can have a warped record of some dorky Vaudvillian dude singing a nonsensical song? Much like the ghost in “Family Circus”, I have to say: NOT ME!

I’d like to wish a very happy (and inexpensive) birthday to my brother, Jack, who is older than I am. Much older. I mean, insanely, amazingly, shockingly, you-can’t-possibly-have-the-same-parents older.

He’s old.

As a staunch fence-sitter, I’m open to voting for the right guy TEAM for the job. I really thought McC had the guts and deserved the glory, but first he chooses a lame running mate and now he makes a passive showing of the debate. …eek. It looks like Obamarama and Biden (I don’t have a good funny name for him because he’s like old dry toast) are going to be the dudes to party with come November.

(“Orgy of spending” – LOL! That phrase alone may earn my vote!)

Facebook Profiles Out Narcissists LiveScience.comFri Sep 26, 9:31 AM ET
Facebook profiles can tell you more than just peoples’ birthdays and what movies they like – they can reveal the self-adoring, a new study suggests.

A study was commissioned to determine this important news? It doesn’t take more than a cursory glance at the profiles on Facebook and MySpace to realize that they’re just a vehicle to explore your inner Attention Whore.

Here’s the part of the study that they didn’t seem to figure out: that all narcissists are actually so self-absorbed because they privately hate themselves. So they post amazing, slutty pictures of themselves to make others believe they’re cool. Hello? Tila Tequila, anyone?? You can’t convince me that’s a healthy person.

To a lesser extent, my state college psychology studies lead me to extend a further hypothesis that maybe, just maybe, everyone (non-nacissists included) post good things about themselves because you’d have to be a dumbass to post negative things about yourself. “I’m Bob, 45, overweight with a hairy stomach, chronic dandruff, mommy issues, $30,000 of debt, and a shocking inability to keep a job for longer than three months. Wanna date?”

If people posted the truth about themselves, would the University of Georgia get a fat government grant to study Facebook members’ low self-esteem?