Results tagged "Health"

This is my new boyfriend…

Yes. That’s right. Dr. Richard Ferber, I love you.

Because you see, SLEEP is something that I haven’t had very much of in the past OH, EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS. That is until a few nights ago when Mr. Sal and I decided to go all hardcore and picked up RICHARD’S book “Solve Your Child’s Sleep Problems”. Shown below in ALL CAPS so that those that are SLEEP DEPRIVED can read the title.

This man is a genius. A gem. A MIRACLE WORKER. A mere four nights after starting his process of letting Josephine cry herself to sleep, we are in a routine of SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT. Yes, that’s right. We kicked it ROOT DOWN. Just when I was getting used to letting her RULE THE UNIVERSE.

But, as I think back over the past few nights, it wasn’t easy, and this man is made of pure stone. We had to put her in her bed, leave the room and listen to her cry. Sometimes the crying went on FOR HOURS. As we followed the book’s suggestions to go in every few minutes to try and comfort her, but NOT pick her up. Mentally this was excruciating, but it also hurt me physically — my neck, my back — to listen to her cry so hard. WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO ME?!?!? But then, it subsided. And each night as we persevered the crying grew shorter until at LONG-almost-nine-months-last, we put her in her bed and she didn’t cry. She just fell asleep.

And, of course, those wiser and more experienced told us to do this from the beginning — and believe me, we TRIED to let her cry. But then she had Croup. And then she snuggled up all cute and cozy on the couch, sleeping peacefully, which according to Dr. Ferber was only creating BAD HABITS — so, something needed to be done. Not to mention, there’s something so much more official about having a book tell you what to do… Having it actually work, however, is a little hard to believe.  So, thank you Dr. Ferber. Thank you for being real. Direct. And for helping us cross “Get Jo to sleep in her own bed” off of our 2012 list of accomplishments. Now that we are getting some sleep, we may just be able to tackle windsurfing.

In other news, the Steve Jobs doll is off the market. That’s right. OFF. And, no. I’m not going to stop leading you off to other places on the internet where I have voiced my opinion. Get over it.

It’s not like we didn’t expect to get sick. I mean, every other person that we know told us that as soon as Will started school — WATCH OUT, he was sure to get sick. Right? It’s not like we think we’re ABOVE it… I mean, not really. And so we knew. We washed hands…. glopped on the sanitizer, took our vitamins. But still, it’s been an entire MONTH, and there is no way that anyone could have been prepared for the onslaught that we are just now recovering from. cough.

[ear infection. COUGH. sneezing. COUGH. COUGH. fever. COUGH. HACK. chills. COUGH COUGH COUGH. runny noses. cover your mouth. COUGH COUGH COUGH. germs. medicine. don't pick your nose. doctor's offices. COUGH COUGH COUGH. tissues. blankets. inhalers. NEBULIZER. humidifier. COUGH COUGH COUGH. expectant. chest compression. z-pack. steroids. STEAM. suppressant. COUGH COUGH..... CROUP!!?!?!?!]

You couldn’t even come near us we were so disgusting…. I spent several nights just walking around my house coughing — unable to talk, breathe, eat. It was like someone took my head off, twisted all my airpipes and vocal cords around and then laughed really hard while they attempted to sew it back on. I can’t even go into how hard it is to take care of yourself when both of the kids are sick… Will, who starts vibrating after ten minutes of not being able to go outside — I actually heard myself say “You stay on that couch or I’m (cough cough) going to (cough) TIE YOU TO IT (hack cough hack)!!”… as I swiftly turned around to see who was behind me because there is no way that I just SAID THAT. (cough). Jo woke up one night with the brilliant ability to mimic a barking seal — and while we ran around in circles while taking hot showers with her and consulting every book/website/pediatrician/nairobianwitchdoctor while holding her until she feel asleep quietly, we came to one glaring conclusion. Parenting sucks. And oh yeah, we hate croup.

We annoyed everyone. Mr. Sal, for one, who happened to NOT GET SICK, has yet to sleep this month. The cashiers at our various haunts were pretty much hiding under counter tops attempting to avoid us and I swear I even saw our pediatrician gag when we walked in for our second visit IN THREE DAYS. Even our evening grazers glared at us with their evil glowing eyes, from 5 feet outside our backdoor…. cough.

But, as things pass (since they usually do) we are almost through it. cough. My swollen glands are more like jellybeans than golf balls, a detail that I know you needed, and both Will and Josephine have become shields to the elements with all of the meds they’ve taken. A beacon of health we may not be, but as we head into our first snowstorm in OCTOBER, we seem to be on the road to wellness. cough.

In other news… if you’re wondering where everyone went on the internet, stop right there and put that crazy down because, YES. They are all over here, at Will’s Kitchen. That’s right! Our mini-marketing campaign has begun to pay off — with mini ads now strategically placed over at Sprocket Ink and Mini Munchers as well as a lovely mention by Enjoy Life Foods on Facebook… It also really didn’t hurt that we made donuts.

You can stop drooling now.

I’m sitting here at my desk being all uppity because my son has food allergies.

RIGHT?

Because I know everything. AND, I’m not being sarcastic… AT ALL. Not here – Not there… Not anywhere… Okay, a little too much Cat in the Hat, but you know what I mean. By the way, I am being totally sarcastic…Because some people just don’t get it.

It all started a few weeks ago when I came to the realization that if I want Will’s Kitchen to actually achieve anything in the world of food allergy awareness, that I was going to have to get off my tuckus and actually tell someone about the website. I know. Because apparently, if you don’t tell people about it, they simply WON’T KNOW. And yes. Apparently I just used the word tuckus.

So I did what any marketing trained mind would do. I turned to Mr. Sal and told him I needed an operating budget of no less than 20K to hit the ground running…. Bombarding him after a hard day’s work, with charts and graphs and media calendars combined with returns and percentages of success. He was suspect when I excused myself from the dinner table to change into business-wear and sexy heels — because that’s when you know you mean business…It may have worked better if had gone the extra mile and showered… but then again, I don’t think he enjoyed snarfing that first martini sip when he heard the bottom line, so no water wasted. Perhaps I should have waited until sip number six.What?

At any rate, my attempts to achieve my first major investor failed. Shocking, I know. So off I went a-packin out into the wild, wild wonders of the interweb with my anti-food allergy flag held high in an attempt to achieve a grass-roots, gorilla campaign. A few stops later, I found myself with a mini ad campaign on Mini Munchers, as well as a guest recipe post. Wandering around I also found gobs of other useful contacts — like-minded people that are just asking for food allergies to be acknowledged and taken seriously, which then led to engaging correspondence about awareness and the right way to reach the food weary audience. One such response came from the lovely ladies at The Mouthy Housewives — whom I join today in answering a very important question regarding peanut/nut-free policies at schools — a topic that I deal with on an almost daily basis with Will and his new preschool. It was a great opportunity to be able to voice my suggestions to the Mom that wrote in as well as the general public AND, interesting to see the debate so far…

One Mom suggests putting all allergy kids on their own island in their own classroom! BEAUTIFUL. Allergy kids and Lepers having so much in common****….

So, once you’ve gathered yourself after rolling on the floor laughing at the ‘OMG someone SAID THAT insanity’ over the above statement, click on over to read some of the more intelligent thoughts that are being thrown out — share and enjoy — in all seriousness, because YOU KNOW that I’m taking every word TO HEART while I muddle around in a pool of sarcasm.

****This is a joke. Despite it’s lack of grace….

As I walked into the office, I immediately felt hives creeping up my neck. Were we crazy? Obviously this doctor didn’t have the first clue about the modern world… The piles of outdated magazines caked with dust and strewn around the ramshackle 1950′s decor. The faint scent of mildew entered our noses as we took the clip board from the 200 year old receptionist that looked at us over her bifocals with annoyance and doubt that we were indeed old enough to care for the three year old and infant in tow. You know, 35-40 being the new 15-20, we were obviously checking in to meet the doctor due in part to our own stupidity… but didn’t she know the levels of our desperation? We called them, obviously…. and they relied on filing cabinets and clip boards, not computers and other fangdangled tricks of technology. But did we need to be met with the sketchiness of HR Puff-n-Stuff meets Land of the Lost all because we wanted a third opinion?

And as she held out her skeletal pointer finger in an attempt to direct Will to the toys of antiquity, I tried to think of an analogy to express our ever growing frustrations over Will’s food allergies. Unfortunately, my attempts were immediately sidelined when the definition of eccentric walked out of his office to invite us in.

Large portraits of family pets and a coffee table encasing a Floridian sea shell collection found us speechless and grasping to understand our surroundings as he turned to us to initiate the conversation.

Why were we there?
Grasp.
Because….

The wood paneling of his office walls screamed with anticipation as I realized that the heels on my shoes had become entangled in the orange shag. Really?

Because… we want another opinion.
Grasp.

The room was hot as I gazed over his desk to a self-portrait of the doctor in a civil war reenactment uniform. Long-gone were my dreams of forward thinking, as OH – I think the hives had reached my face. I found my voice and explained our situation — reeling off the script that I had repeated to a list of other allergists and pediatricians. We want our son to have a flu shot and his egg allergy is preventing this. We don’t completely believe his test results from his other allergists. And, after almost 4 years of living with several food allergies  — we aren’t sure that he would ever have a severe reaction considering the number of times he has already been exposed. We want a cure. We don’t want to be scared anymore. We want world peace — perfection, and while he’s at it — we want him to tell us EVERYTHING WE WANT TO HEAR. Because this food allergy thing SUCKS. And here we ARE — uncomfortable, and… SWEATING in an office with a man that we would only avoid eye contact with in any other given situation. PLEASE. TELL US. MAKE IT ALL OKAY.

And then he did. That is to say, he agreed to a few of our demands while acting out weird and undoctorly movie quotes that made us laugh uncomfortably. He suggested that Will might not really be allergic in the terms of your typically defined allergy. That although his blood might scream severe, his reaction may be quite the opposite. In short, he told us almost the opposite of everything we’ve ever been told about Will’s allergies AND he suggested some proactive steps… like giving him the allergens directly, allowing the flu vaccination in a controlled environment and, instead of hovering over him in a “no, you can’t have that” kind of way… being more open and suggestive that he might try more things. And for about forty minutes we felt euphoric. As if the must in the air was really a choice herb emanating from a giant bong connected to the office humidifier. We were encouraged to breathe deeply while Mr. Sal and I held hands and danced rings around Dr. Eccentric. His sea shell collection came to life — floating around us as if they were still alive in the deep blue ocean. It wasn’t until we walked out of the office that we, as parents, actually glanced at each other as if we’d just met Jesus — but not so sure it was really him or just some weirdo asking us to buy real estate in heaven. Because, there really isn’t anything scarier than having someone tell you exactly what you want to hear.

Because I thought I made myself clear about keeping things uncomplicated.

While I sit here loving almost every second of my life — insisting that we need to have “quiet time” after lunch everyday, when really — all I want is a few seconds to clear my head… which doesn’t feel filled with very much to begin with… That is unless you think that deciding between orange, grape or cherry popsicles is NOT worthy of a United Nations Summit. Wouldn’t it be way more of a release to just grab some drum sticks and start whaling on the furniture for a while? I mean, who the hell says QUIET TIME anyway? Me? Do I SAY QUIET TIME? Those words actually left my mouth — floating around out there like some complete weirdo that also says things like CRAFTING. And if you say crafting, please don’t take offense. This is all on me — I haven’t taken a shower that lasted longer than 2 minutes in days AND I just suggested QUIET TIME.

Years ago, wasn’t it more fun when I stressed out over clients not paying me on time (or not at all)? Because, leaving that behind and instead watching my three year old take matters into his own hands by peeing on the tree in the backyard kinda feels juxtaposed. Or when the two month old hums quietly in her sleep but still refuses to poop everyday. Is that not a matter to consider rather alarming? While the IRS breathed down my neck over missed employee taxes and bone-headed business partners went sour… Is it not comparable to praying that he won’t have long-term, post traumatic stress disorder because he happened to catch a movie trailer for the Green Lantern on channel 11?

And, while it may sound like I’ve entered into some descending level of DARK, on the contrary, I have to say that things are rather light. Laughing away the days and seriously not crying over spilled soy milk  — much less cleaning it up. It doesn’t really help that I put all of this pressure on myself, especially when I’m the only one with the expectations… Telling me to relax will only make me question and obsess over why I’m not laying back. Because I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but did it really have to be this hard?

I took this picture the day before Josephine was born. I remember thinking that I was all wrong about this baby coming earlier than predicted… I even muttered that she was right on for the target date — May 23rd. A few short hours later I was in labor… a few even shorter minutes later, she was here. Now she’s gurgling in a baby “soother” next to me while I type.

Since then, things have become more and more clear despite the rather chaotic scene that surrounds me. But when I say “clear” I have to admit that I’m focused almost entirely on the smallest of small…. Like details that I missed or couldn’t grasp in a pregnancy haze. For example, we had been talking for weeks about finally adding the missing leaf to our kitchen table — so as to allow dining comfort for our growing family and the host of guests that have already been penciled in for the upcoming months. And I know — this is way beyond boring. I mean WHY am I blogging about this? Who cares — and more importantly — WHY ARE YOU READING THIS? But the point isn’t about how small the universe becomes when there is an infant in the room… it’s about how much bigger all of the small things seem to be. While we tried and tried to pull apart the table so as to accommodate the missing leaf, our frustrations grew and grew. Why hadn’t we ever attempted this before? We paid for a big table — were we EVER going to get to use it? The whole thing was beginning to feel like a ShamWOW! commercial when suddenly, whilst I was dozing off for a few minutes in the wee hours, I remembered the latches underneath the table. Unhook them and let the growth begin. In our haste and impatience we had cursed the table to no end when really — all we had to do was look underneath. Life, my friends, should never be so difficult.

Since this post is entirely about and for ME, I have taken the initiative to BOLD the important aspects. That way you can speed read, grasp the skinny and shimmy on out… At least that’s how I’d do it.

It amazes me.
I was amazed, and still — I remain as such.

The speed at which things can get totally blown out of proportion. Uncontrollable speed. With flames shooting out of the sides of things… Like people’s heads. Or when a seemingly important but not critical, situation is looked at from another perspective, and all hell breaks loose. Kind of like Trump for President, or… entering my house with a freshly baked batch of butter filled chocolate chip cookies…. That you expect me to share…  And while I am torn about whether or not to share this very personal experience with the internet, I’m just sitting here — not lifting a finger… Because that’s what I was told to do. Absolutely nothing.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to not do anything? Especially typing with my tongue — not very effective. So far, I haven’t done anything since last Wednesday around 11am. That was when I pulled my car into the Southampton Hospital Valet and threw my keys at the poor unsuspecting parking lot attendant. If only I had taken a second to acknowledge his smile… knelt down, perhaps, to smell the lovely flowers along the pathway to PATIENT ADMITTANCE. Which, I know, sounds more like some screwball confessional than anything else — but it is accurate in terms of signing yourself up for the unknown… patiently (of course).

But there I was. I had a strange pain in my right side — and being 34 weeks pregnant (give or take) my doctor didn’t hesitate to send me off to the hospital for monitoring. It would have all worked itself out eventually, had I found the ability to control my nerves, but no. No — instead I complained when the pain increased. I squirmed. And worse — I cried when the “call nurse” button on the thingamajig didn’t work and my cell phone had no service. I was, in effect, an infant — by all standard definitions… And yet, they insisted that I stay. They insisted there was something serious going on.. They introduced me to a surgeon who LOVES to cut people open. LOVES IT. He loves it so much, in fact — that he was ready to dive right in without one of those silly CAT Scans to prove that I needed my Appendix out. Medical Technology — WHO NEEDS IT?!? But no. As he went off to sharpen his knife collection, another doctor agreed to a second opinion and had me transferred to another hospital where they stand firm behind JUST THE FACTS MAN. A theory that sometimes gets lost out here in the Hamptons… you know — facts being so REAL and all.

But it WAS REAL.
AND — it was REALLY HAPPENING.
As I laid there, bouncing around in the ambulance being transferred to Stonybrook University Hospital — where ALL of the surgeons and doctors are between the ages of 18 and 25… AND where I finally found solace in the almost apologetic confirmation that NO. I did not need surgery…. AND, with the crowned jewel on top — The baby is ABSOLUTELY FINE.

But still, they wouldn’t let me leave. Because — the pain was still there and according to every 18-25 year old medical professional, House M.D. is the end all of medical mysteries… as in — there is NO SUCH THING. I actually had one late night doctor, who seemed to fancy my humor, tell me that he wasn’t letting me leave until he had this ENIGMA figured out. The enigma, of course, being me — wrapped up in a riddle, fashioned as a bleach smelling gurney. I would have laughed him right out of triage, but by then they had me all tickled pink with morphine. Those sneaky bastards. I guess I should have thanked The FOX Network for giving us this new breed of NEVER SAY NEVER die-hard docs due to HOUSE, but instead I sought my immediate exit.

And so, here I am, home since Thursday evening and starting an official countdown. My due date is in May… bets are being placed that I don’t make it through this week, although I’m not so sure about that. I am still feeling the weirdness on my right side, but with every test known to man telling me that nothing is wrong, I’m just wading around in the shallow end. I am going in for nonstop follow-ups and doctor appointments… none of which involve House OR surgeons that love surgery… And as I mentioned earlier, I have been cut-off on doing anything that involves, well, anything until we see the end of this. “This” being something that we have been looking forward to for a very looooong nine months… Excited is an understatement, as I sit here jumping on the inside. Until then, my posts will become somewhat less and less — although I will be in touch with the final outcome, of course.

AND — whew, enough already, right!
Fam and Friends — Thank you for your comfort… you have no idea.
Mr. Sal — That chair looked damn uncomfortable and yet you managed to stay in it. There are no words…

The time has come!

My sister Annie and her longtime love, Rob, are getting married on Sunday. So — let’s all think fun, lovely thoughts about romance and bright lights in the city… About family and looovvvee and all things happy matrimony… This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Please raise your glasses… To Annie and Rob…

Here we are… on the other side. How are you? Have you put the holidays away? Gone back to where you were three weeks ago, or has everything CHANGED? Did you make life altering decisions that are going to effect EVERYTHING? If so, really?

Do resolutions really resolve anything? I mean…  If one can determine what deserves improvement or evaluation, does life improve or are other issues unearthed as if a behemoth excavator is reaching into the past to say… HEY, you never thought about THIS, did you?

Because I’ve been looking around the past few days and honestly, I can’t think of a better way to get it all going again than to simplify and move on. And what is it of  basic self inflicted torture via the wisdom of others that may or may not know the same as I do about… well, anything? In looking for answers, I am always ready for enlightenment…  And as I sat down to start my research on the matter, I realized that my glasses were missing. Misplaced. Nowhere to be found.

It was then that I abandoned the quest, forgetting while turning a blind eye — staring off into the blurred distance among the glare of blinking Christmas lights combined with a mess of disgruntled, snow bound New Yorkers… Losing sight of the task, but more importantly, the details at hand.

Because, you see, I’m not really blind without my glasses. I can still see… I can still read – although due to a condition involving CONJUNCTIONS, when I concentrate my vision on something for too long my eyes slowly start to head inward… towards my nose… creating cross-eyed havoc that only a cyclops would be envious of. And of course, this comes with consequences… like tear ducts that decide to close-up-shop for the season when crossroads are met… it’s all very snobbish and high maintenance… kind of like Vineyard Vines — you know you want the pink whale spouting “Yay, 2011!” embroidered repeatedly on your navy blue pants, but what will the others think? This is my tale, and I tell it well. When given the chance, my friends, blink.

And so, while I was busy reading with one eye — blatantly ignoring the fact that this was bad for me, I started to grow tired of the bullshit that I was encountering. There I was, reading blogs that I had never read before — treading among the thoughts of strangers, wasting tens upon tens of minutes looking backwards at the past 365 days, wishing for improvements and suggestions but really just ending up with half empty cups of Everything is just so HARD. Where are the self-promises of weight loss and clean lungs? The new hobbies and the no more apologies? Why is everyone taking it all so seriously? Can’t we just watch Judge Judy and realize that it’s all for SHOW anyway? WHAT IS WRONG WITH BEING HAPPY, DAMMIT? It took a heafty dose of multiple viruses and a few afternoons of extreme dehydration to pull me back to reality. And I suppose I should thank the 5 and 7 year old niece and nephew (respectively) that smeared their germs of death love all over me…. because otherwise I may have been found wandering the streets agreeing with those believing that the past needs to be reckoned with in order to find peace and serenity now. Serenity Now… Serenity Now….

But I don’t believe it. Hype never sits well with me… The past is back there… and looking at it can cause my neck to strain in awkward and really unbecoming positions. Not to mention that there really isn’t much back there to see… other than a few empty containers and neurotic albino bats–suffering from turrets but still drinking from the East River. The behemoth, by the way, is an actual mythical beast that keeps showing up throughout history… what are the chances that a New Year’s resolution involving that monster is going away anytime soon?

And so… with this post finally out of the way, and clearly not making enough sense to be worth the time it took to write… I hope that you had a great holiday season… filled with all kinds of moving forward… looking the other way, and yes — even turning a blind eye to making changes in the name of “it happened ONCE, but now it’s fixed and we can finally move on”. Because without paying attention to the details of what is happening now, the past is still going to be back there… playing Go Fish or Peaknuckle… perhaps.. Chess… Connect Four… or who knows… Maybe even BOGGLE.

Over the weekend I found myself on the floor… flannel pajamas… unkempt and rolling with laughter over an editorial in the NY Times on the malady of the almighty narcissism… The article focuses on how confusing the whole personality disorder has become due in part to the emergence of social media… Twitter, blogs, etc… blah blah blah… Regardless, I was reading between my tears of insanity about how psychologists are worried and scratching their heads… but then I clamored out from underneath the table — brushed myself off and dictated that everyone just eat cake…because if no one else was going to eat the 3 year-old’s leftover birthday cupcakes, I was in big trouble…  And it was with a mouth full of cocoa and rainbow sprinkles that I realized that the time had come to release the inner narcissist — And if you haven’t had enough yet, good news because this should last for another 20ish-plus-giveortake-a-day-or-four weeks or so. Please do not be alarmed, according to the NY Times, this, among other things, is “natural”…. although I beg to differ on the use of the term ‘Malady’…

…and this is by far the most personal thing that I’ve ever posted…

NOT a bowl full of jelly...

And I just HAD to place my hand on the ever-growing belly to accentuate the whole situation…

(PAUSE PAUSE PAUSE)

And I can hear it all. The combined ‘Again?!’s’ among the ‘Congratulations’ and ‘How Exciting’s'… Because yes. That is exactly how I feel in constant rotation for most of the day — awake that is. When I’m asleep the dreams are so whacked out that I can’t believe I wake to a room without padded walls. For example, last night I was getting a dress fitted for my sister’s wedding at a local seamstress in town when suddenly an enormous tsunami came crashing through the store, freshly beached from the shore located 2 miles east. I had found safety among floating mannequins that were giggling about how easy it was to swim when I realized that they thought that I too was made of plastic… I was mid-way to proving that I was human — simply acting as a flotation device due to my ‘condition’ when the King of Southampton, Mayor Eply, rode by on raft singing REM’s “It’s The End of The World As We Know It”. I then woke up upset that I had forgotten to ask the seamstress about what she does with her fabric scraps, completely conflicted about North Korea while craving half baked french fries. And thank goodness I can now share this with the internet, right?

Because even though this is to be our second child… This pregnancy is totally different from the first — allowing for the prediction that this new person is already so individual that we won’t know what to do with ourselves for at least the first year of his or her life… While we forget about everything else waiting for life to readjust. Not only exemplifying the point that I was trying to prove for the first 24 months of Will’s life… That pregnancy is NOT nine months, rather it’s more like 2 years… but that also, yes. We are doing it again. Happily.

And so that’s it. Now you know. And I think that most of you might be feeling a medium sized AHH HAA — that a lot might make more sense now… From making accessories for complete strangers, baking obsessively… to comparing an old car to the beach at the end of my street… And of course the resurgence of Pee Wee Herman. It might still be a little hard to imagine for those that know the Creative Director side of me with the patience of a flying squirrel (don’t ask)… While totally making sense to others that have met Will and witnessed our lives with him. My manic behavior is leveling out… the denial phase ended a few weeks ago when I stopped sending out my resume for full time positions in Miami and I put away almost all of the size 6es, saying goodbye with all kinds of promises to return… The to-do-list has been cut by more than half… and if I could stay awake for longer than 10 hours at a time, I just might get things accomplished.

So while I try to keep it all in perspective… I’m finding myself a little more in love with me than I would during any other ordinary holiday season. There are times that I weep over the heart-bursting simplicity of  Dr. Seuss’ Grinch…. to complete and murderous anger about things that happened well over 20 years ago… and while a tuna sandwich SOUNDS like heaven on wheat bread… put one in front of me and you might just meet the devil. One thing is for sure… the next 20ish-plus-giveortake-a-day-or-four weeks or so are sure to be all consuming… absorbing… arresting.. if not completely self-concentric and at the very least completely NOT uninteresting….