Friday, November 26, 2004

 
Flesh Be Not Proud*
Or: Pied Pyogenic Noir**

There's no point in adding to Derbyselfnotself's bulging inbox with the observation that "proud" is used in the term "proud flesh" -which describeth the oozing, hamburger-like granulomas that are characteristic of "ingrown toenails." For unclear reasons this affliction has a predilection for the big(or "great")toes of those in their teens or early twenties. A common treatment involves removal of said tissue and some adjacent nail, following(unless one is an adherent of the "Religion of Peace" in quest of information from or abasement of, a captive) a novacaine-type digital block. If the problem recurs, a podiatrist can then permanently destroy the offending portion of the nail bed, albeit with something like a 3 week period of healing.
Those who might dismiss the above as trivial have probably not been visited by it, nor remember the truism from "Stripes"(Bill Murray)that "an army without leaders is like a foot without a big toe." Btw., my middle daughter is reading Camus' "The Plague" fer skul. Thus far she hasn't run er, stubbed across the term, "Pied Noir,"-which seems to crop up frequently in discussions of French Algeria-most recently on the digital National Review. She is required to read one more book written originally in a tongue other than our mamaloshen. -Tho it is less than certain that her high school standing will be augmented by reading my copy of "Camp of the Saints."
Another common malady suffered disproportionately by the young is the pilonidal abcess, but in the interest of those enjoying leftover Thanksgiving gravy, a graphic description will be deferred.

*I really didn't think that would be original, but was surprised to find that, with quotes, it's a Googlewhack. Btw., I should lay off the "Hoplite beer" stuff, given that there wuz a whole buncha' hits for that gem. -No hits for what may for all I know be a fav imported brew of England's keatering classes: "Cortez Stout." (I won't be baskin' in fame over that one, given the robbin' of credit for the true discoverer of the Pacific by Keats' "celebrated mistake," but will retire now to soothe my non-existent soul with the celebrated dessert drink, "Rocky Balboa."
**Not, one hopes, a major film genre.