R.I.C.E.

As all you Wondeaders know, I have eliminated pasta from my diet because I thought I heard my dinner say, "Please avoid so that you feel awesome." Weird, huh? Anyway, I've replaced it with rice, which I think stands for Rice Is Clearly Eatable (trademark). So, short-gutters everywhere, I encourage you to give rice a try because it seems to be working somewhat well for me. It is not helping me gain any weight; but I am not losing any, and my stomach doesn't hurt when I finish eating a serving of rice.

O man, I do not want to do my math homework at all. It's all stuff the is basically plugging numbers into equations, but it takes a lot of tedious work. AKA: real easy, but more boring.

The Oscar's last night were pretty entertaining. Hugh Jackman is totally the man. Did anybody else catch that the opening number ended with him proclaiming, "I'm Wolverine!" in reference to his role in the movie adaptations of the Skeletons comics, I mean X-Men? Only Subak would understand the skeletons-X-men joke, so don't feel bad about rereading twice with a quizzical look before continuing. He's planning on coming down to Columbus for a weekend. I hope he can this weekend, if not the week after that. He and I, I'm hoping, will meet up with DJ and Alex and grab some grub at BW3, Champps, Applebee's, or one of the like.

I could totally go for a glass of ice cold orange soda right about now. Ugh, it would be glorious. I don't know why but since sometime last week, I've been having Kelesque cravings for that unique, bubbly goodness.

I should probably get to work on my math homework so I don't have to do it when I wake up tomorrow morning. Adios. -IW

Math Wins

I think it's a good thing I'm not planning on being a journalist. I don't have thick enough skin for it. TPN must thin out your skin along with your hair and wrecking your kidneys. Readers of the online Lantern can post comments on the various articles. Needless to say there were a few comments on my article. One reader told me that everyone has a difficult life, and I am no different. Another said that "FML" is from a website, so it's okay for people to say because it's a part of popular culture. O right, another comment said I was "scary" and likened me to a White Power member or a member of the NRA. Still another asked me never to write for the Lantern again because I do not have writing talent and said that the Lantern is a sub-par publication. I'm not sure about the credibility of any of these comments, as I can easily tear gaping holes in each of their arguments. Your life is not as hard as someone else's life, so remember that next time you curse your own life (a.k.a. the point of the article). Is promiscuous sex okay? There are plenty of websites devoted to that. How am I anything like a white supremecist or gun fiend because I don't like unnecessary, unfounded cursing? Why waste your time reading and commenting on a sub-par publication?

Boom ... roasted.

Perhaps the article wouldn't have been as "controversial" if they hadn't renamed it. Instead of "Think About the Unlucky Ones," it was published as "If You're Reading This, Then Life Isn't So Bad." Titles should be short and catchy. And they shouldn't have apostrophes. And they should be the author's.

Anyway ... math definitely wins. -IW

Now I'm a Journalist

So I've been getting a lot of support, telling me I should consider a career in journalism. I think math is the path that I'm going to take though. But that doesn't mean I can't be a journalist on the side. Ha. The Ohio State student paper, the Lantern, had an ad the other day asking for someone willing to write for the opinion section on a regular basis. So I responded. They said they liked the essay I submitted, and it will be in tomorrow's paper. The guy I spoke with also told me he would like me to continue to submit articles for publishing "on my terms." The essay I submitted is written below. Enjoy!

Think About the Unlucky Ones

Undoubtedly you have heard it: the newest three-word phrase that has crept into daily conversation, spoken without a second thought. It is “‘F-word’ my life,” abbreviated “FML.” I am particularly disheartened by my classmates’ newest choice for an expression of frustration. I am not saying that your lives are not wearisome or that you don’t deserve a way of expressing those feelings of contempt. I am merely attempting to convince you that saying, “FML,” is perhaps not the best way of articulating your feelings. Consider what “FML” implies about those who use it. It says that their life is so difficult that they simply cannot deal with it any more. It says that they would rather cease living than go on any longer. It says that nobody understands the obstacles they must overcome.

Each time I hear this, I feel a pain in my heart. I feel that these students who fail to understand just how lucky they are. They do not or choose not to understand just how difficult some people have it. If you are one of the many who have said, “FML,” I suggest that on your next day off you take a walk through the medical center in the southwest corner of campus. Without a doubt, within your first few steps inside the hospital you will see someone whose life is more difficult than your own. They will be wearing a gown that opens in the back. They will have a look of defeat in their eyes. They will have an IV connecting their body to a bag hanging a few inches above the level of their heart. These are the people who have the right to say, “FML,” yet they rarely say word one about how difficult their lives are. This is because admitting the difficulty of their life is the first step towards giving up. They need to stay positive if they ever want to escape the prison cell that all hospital rooms are.

I speak from experience. Sixteen months ago, I had to have 95 percent of my small intestine removed. I spent a total of four weeks in the hospital and eight months on a nightly IV. I was lucky. My condition, short-gut syndrome, affects just two out of every one million people, and only a microscopic percentage of these people are ever able to stay off an IV for more than a few days. But I remember being there. I remember missing more than two months of my senior year of high school. I remember cancelling a trip to London with my best friends because I was sick. I remember fighting harder than I ever have before to get healthy enough to go away to college. I remember how my life fell apart and how I still need to fight every day to stay healthy and avoid a night in the hospital. And I remember never admitting or accepting the impossibility of what was ahead of me. I stayed positive. I overcame.

Next time life has you down, and you want to quickly utter, “FML,” consider the people in our medical center. Consider the people who fight every single day and still don’t get to have what we all have. We are students at one of the nation’s elite universities. We have it better than a lot of people. If anybody can do it, Ohio State students can stay positive in difficult situations. Keep that in mind the next time you feel discouraged. Maybe, try counting your many blessings instead of your relatively few crosses.

So there you go. Hopefully Stacey's formatting tips worked for me. If it didn't then all of the bracketed p's are supposed to be new paragraphs. Hooray for me!

-IW

Pain In My Back

"Pain in my Back" By the Intestineless Wonder:

"Pain in my back, lower back /

I want it to leave me. /

It's no friend, not my friend /

It's an enemy. /

Take the pill, hurry up /

I took the pill, now I wait /

And I rest with my friend /

and an old /

Kidney stone-a, kidney stone-a /

kidney stone-a, kidney stone-a /

It hurts so much, hurts so bad /

but the pill helps it stop /

before the end, it's a friend /

It's the pill /

Not the stone-a, not the stone-a /

Kidney stone-a, kidney stone-a /

And I swear that this is not much fun /

Stones are not all that fun /

Stones are not that much fun /

Kidney stone-a, kidney stone-a /

kidney stone-a, kidney stone-a /

(No, they are not that fun) /

And I swear that they are not much fun /

No, they are not that fun /

No, they are not too fun /

No, they are not that fun /

No, they are not much fun /

Kidney stone-a, kidney stone-a. "

Read through that to "Come as You Are" on Nirvana's Nevermind album. It will be glorious. Sorry, I'm not sure why, but I can't get more than one paragraph to show up on my blog page. I can enter while I type it out, but when I post it, it is all one paragraph. Bear with me while I figure it all out.

-IW [Edited on February 22]

P.A.S.T.A.

So it has come to my attention that my last post may have rubbed some people the wrong way. I suppose I was attempting a Colbert-esque rant which may not have come across as I intended. My apologies. ... Now for today's post. So I have been feeling much better this past week. Before my last visit home, for a long time, every night I had become bloated and sick feeling. And I do mean every night. It was terrible. If I lifted my shirt to look at my abdomen, I would see lumps where I was feeling the most bloated, and I would be able to see said lumps move about underneath my skin until I made my nightly trip to the men's room. I tried in vain to find the cause but eventually just accepted it as the way things were: yet another vice associated with Short-Gut Syndrome. Recently, though, my mother, who does an unbelievable amount of research for me in her spare time, read that pastas and other heavy carbs can cause bloating in Short-Gut patients. Now, through my entire first quarter and the beginning of my second quarter, I went to a campus diner called Market Place to get a pasta dish for dinner. This was because I felt I needed as many calories as possible, and I knew that pasta was rich in calories and low in fat. But due to my mother's recent research, I decided to give up pasta and see if that didn't help me. It did help. It turns out pasta is an anagram that stands for Please Avoid So That you feel Awesome. Since I have removed pasta from my daily menu, the nightly cramps and bloating has subsided. So too has the daily gurgling and "increased intestinal activity" (IIA - trademark) during the day. Thanks Ma, for finding this information, because I have been feeling so much better. Every day is so much better now that I don't feel awful every night. It is glorious. ... There was a new House episode tonight. I don't want to ruin it for any "Internet Housers" (trademark), but let's just say that God won tonight. I'm glad God won. ... A kid down the hall came in to say hey just now. He told me I need to start making an effort to get food with them sometime. I wonder if he realizes that I have gotten food with him and his friends a few times before. The only time they acknowledged my presence was when they were making fun of me for being thin, pale, or always sitting in my room and when they told me to watch their stuff while they went back in to buy more food without waiting for my consent. Don't worry, I didn't watch their stuff. I left and walked home alone. When they got back they proceeded to mock me for leaving. With friends like that who needs enemies, right? ... Well, I think that's enough for my rant today. O wait, NBA All-Star festivities. Hmm ... maybe I'll leave that for my next post. Later Gators. -IW

Life-long Search Going Unfulfilled

February 12, 2009: the first day of Spring Training 2009. With split season tickets for this season, I am excited. The Tribe's spring training venue has shifted after 14 seasons in Winter Haven, Florida to Goodyear Park, in Arizona. Goodyear: better yield a good year, indeed. Knowing that I have a ticket to at least a few games causes me to wonder: do I have adequate gear? This is an interesting question. Although baseball is a warm-weather sport known for being played under blue skies and a shining sun, most games go late into the night, when the temperature tends to dip into the cooler temperatures of the summer. Let's make a check-list for necessary gear. 1) Headwear: I have a Cooperstown Collection 1975 Cleveland Indians Fitted Cap. Blue hat, red bill, red crooked "C" on the front. Check. 2) Footwear: Brand new, blue Saucony running shoes will suffice. Check. 3) Bottomwear: Jeans will suffice on most nights, with the occasional khaki shorts thrown in. Check. 4) Topwear: This is where it gets tricky. I have a white t-shirt that proudly asks, "Are you in the Tribe?" I don't know what that means. I have a gray t-shirt that says, "Cleveland Indians" on the front, with Chief Wahoo on the back. But t-shirts aren't going to cut it for a part-time season-ticket holder. This brings me to the point of this post. As long as I can remember my favorite player has been Omar Vizquel, the great Indians shortstop preceding Jhonny Peralta. For just as long, I have wanted an Omar Vizquel jersey. Surprisingly, these jerseys are few and far between. While seemingly everyone on the planet has an NFL, NBA, or College football jersey, rarely are MLB jerseys seen, in public or in stores. I saw a Vizquel jersey in my size at an acceptable price only once at a Finish Line store at Chapel Hill Mall, but it was a youth medium, and I was about to cross over into a youth large, so I passed it up. Even with sites such as eBay, Vizquel jerseys are unfindable. Unless I want to buy a personalized jersey and put Vizquel and 13 on the back. Expensive. I will continue to scour the lands for the glorious jersey I am looking for, and would appreciate devoted Wonder Readers, Wondeaders, if you will, to do the same. Let me know if any finds are found. For now though, go Tribe. Wonder out.

Intestine-Strong

I am unbelievably bored. I am watching the United States v. Mexico soccer game. US is up one-nil, and a Mexican player just got a red card for spiking our goalie, who went down for the count ... but now he's fine. There was another Mexican player who was down for the whole play ... but now he's fine, too. So I'm thinking of taking a page out of Lance's book and placing an order at Wristband Connection for some custom wristbands. Intestine-Strong, if you will. Navy blue is the official color of short-gut syndrome (who would have guessed something so unknown would have its own color?) so that's what color they will be. I'm thinking they will say "The Intestineless Wonder". Catchy, right? Prices vary based on how many are ordered so if anyone out there is interested let me know how many you want because that will make it cheaper for me to get my own wristband. Huh-yaaeh. I yawned pretty loudly, and that's my best attempt at spelling a yawn. Great, now I can't stop yawning and focusing on what it sounds like ... now I'm more tired than I was at the beginning of this post. Pitchers and catchers report tomorrow. Go Tribe - IW

Metaphor Practice #1

I'm watching President Obama speak right now and am a little bit bored, so I decided to post something. On a side note, I am speechless at the apathy shown by my fellow college students towards politics. The same people who three and a half months ago would kill anybody who said they were not voting for Barack-Attack now scoff at those who tune in to any major television station in order to watch the first televised, prime-time Obamania press conference. I have lost a lot of respect for all of my classmates who once took political rivalries personally and now think that just because Jesus, I mean Barack, won the election, we no longer need to pay any attention to his policies or actions. But I digress... All who know me, know my love for the Fox television show House, based on the arrogant, alienating, brilliant diagnostician, Dr. Gregory House, M.D. at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital in New Jersey. The show is a glorious achievement in dramatic television writing and acting. But it is not on tonight, because of Obama-rama. House, when diagnosing a patient, has a way with metaphors. No matter the diagnosis, he is always able to come up with an eloborate yet brilliantly appropriate metaphor to prove to his team a) that he is right and b) that he is a lot smarter than they are. Anyway, I am going to begin practicing my ability to execute appropriately conceived metaphors. Here it goes: Your friend shows you his hands, covered in blisters. You cringe, you offer your sympathy, you may ask a few questions about how it happened and how it is affecting their life right now, but as soon as the topic of conversation shifts, blisters are the farthest thing from your mind. The pain of others only pulls on your heartstrings while it is being thrust into your present conscience. Similarly, I tell someone about my own health-related endeavors, and they cringe, they offer their sympathy, they may ask a few questions about how it happened and how it is affecting my life right now, but as soon as the topic of conversation shifts, my diet restrictions and quality of life are the furthest things from their mind. It isn't their fault, I'm not blaming them. I am merely stating a fact. Someone else's problem is just that: someone else's problem. Anyway, I have blisters on my hands from golf class this morning. After re-reading my metaphor, it isn't nearly as brilliant as I hoped it would be, nor, do I think, is it even a metaphor. This is a metaphor: "Having short-gut is like having blistered hands." Maybe it's a simile. I can't remember which one uses "like" or "as" and which one doesn't. Anyway, that will be the first of my to-be-posted list of Wonderisms. That's right, I plan to, over the course of a decent amount of blog postings, put together a list of original short sayings, quotes, and bits of wisdom that I will refer to as Wonderisms. I can see that you are shaking with anticipation. Good luck trying to contain yourself - IW

Manny Being Manny

Manny Ramirez, arguably one of the greatest hitters of all time, is unemployed. He helped the Tribe to two World Series appearances, and then left for more money in Boston. There, he won two World Series titles and one World Series MVP award, if I'm not mistaken. Then, he decided he didn't want to play in Boston anymore so he stopped trying until they traded him to the Dodgers, who he then helped reach the playoffs in yet another MVP-caliber offensive season. Now, he's a free agent. A few months ago the Dodgers offered him two years and $45 million to play for them. He, and his agent Scott Boras, turned it down saying he wanted five years and $125 million. Months later, without a single offer from another team, the Dodgers come back with a one-year deal worth $25 million. Manny said, "No." There is nobody else in the league with any money to even come close to making an offer to Manny, and he says he wants to play at least 6 more years to get to 3,000 hits and perhaps 700 home runs. Yet, he won't play for $25 million. If he plays in all but 12 games this season he would make $1 million every six games. Averaging a little more than four plate appearances per game, he would make $40,000 every time he picked up a bat and walked to the plate regardless of whether he strikes out or hits a home run. $25 million is not enough for him to play baseball in southern California for just one year. One year, then he can re-evaluate or try to get a long-term deal elsewhere or whatever. But no, it is not enough. So here it is: Dear Mr. Ramirez, I have been a fan of yours my entire life. You came up with the Indians when my family and I had season tickets and the Indians were a playoff team every season in brand-new Jacobs' Field. You left for Boston, and guess what? I bought a Red Sox hat and cheered as you all came back from the 3-0 deficit to beat the Yankees and went on to sweep St. Louis in the World Series. Your second World championship, I did not cheer, because this time you all came back form a 3-1 deficit against my beloved Indians, and then swept Colorado. So you have two rings, and you stopped trying in order to force Beantown to trade you, which they did, to Los Angeles. And you had a remarkable season for the Dodgers. You and Joe Torre managed to push them into the playoffs. The Dodgers are only going to be a better team this year and, with you and the lackluster N.L.-West opposition, would be all but guaranteed a playoff spot. And they offer $25 million, a fortune, especially in this economy. But you turned it down. My request is this Mr. Ramirez: write me a check for $1 million and let me pay for my college tuition, medical bills, and any other costs I may incur until I graduate and get a well-paying job (hopefully with a professional baseball team, so any connections would be appreciated). You could make $1 million in six games as I said earlier. And since you turned down $25 million, you are not struggling to pay the bills. Mr. Ramirez, you are a great player and one of my favorites. $1 million would make you very generous and really, really awesome, to go along with your unbelievable, Hall-of-Fame caliber talent. Having that small fortune would be a glorious gift for me to have. In any case, I wish you luck in all that you attempt to accomplish this season and next, and I hope I get to see you play in Jacobs' Field again one day, even if it's in the opposing dug-out. Send me an e-mail, Mr. Ramirez, and I will let you know where to send the check. I look forward to receiving your check and having all financial worries removed from my sub-conscience. Sincerely Yours, John Hudson, jhud1608@yahoo.com The Intestineless Wonder

Late-Night Frasier on Fox

Late night TV watching routine: ESPN until 1130ish, Letterman, then Frasier reruns on Fox. Frasier went to an English bar with Daphne because he was feeling a little bit down. He had a few drinks, and they all began singing, "Roll out the barrell, roll out a barrell of fun ..." And this got me thinking ... I've heard someone sing that song before. I believe he was heavy set, really weird looking (like if you passed him on the street you would be careful not to stare but also not to look away, and then you'd exhale as soon as you were a few paces past him), and I imagine my Dad being real upset everytime he started singing. Haha, if you guessed the beer man in the mid- to late-90s in section 178 at Jacobs' Field who would begin singing while the game was being played, then you are 100% correct. Section 178, Row T if I'm not mistaken, seats 1 and 2 right on the aisle (seats 19 and 20?). Best seats in the house... That got me thinking even more: shared season tickets to Tribe games this season. I can't wait. Four seats in centerfield; it's going to be glorious. The fun really begins in six days and twelve hours, which is when pitchers, catchers, and injured players report to Spring Training. Someday I'll make it to Spring Training. With any luck it will be with the Indians' scouting department or perhaps assistant GM, analyzing which players will perform best throughout the season. Assistant GM ... that would look good underneath "John Hudson" on the nameplate outside of an office on Ontario Street. I e-mailed a few of my contacts with Tribe to attempt to land an internship for the upcoming summer ... apparently I was three months late with my attempt. The HR lady told me I should apply for one of the jobs posted online, such as vendor, usher, or janitor. Not exactly what I was hoping for, but perhaps a job in the teamshop or something similar would not be the worst thing in the world. I guess I at least have my foot in the door, since a few of the people I e-mailed remembered me, told me to stay in touch, and told me to definitely apply for an internship for next season. That would be real awesome ... it will have to wait though, as will my dream of a "John Hudson: Assistant General Manager, Cleveland Indians" nameplate. Peace. -IW

Kidney Stone Scare

Post number 2 .... awesome. I woke up this morning, got myself a gun - sorry that's the beginning to the Sopranos theme song, and I couldn't help myself. Anyway, I woke up this morning and felt the ominous twinge in my lower back on the right side. Kidney stone number 11. So I e-mailed the instructor of my golf class, telling her that I would not be in attendance today, I made a bowl of oatmeal, and I got my pain medication ready so that I could time the dosages around my classes. A half hour later, the pain was gone. Two hours later, it was back. Then it was gone again. It continued like that all day... So while other students waltz about campus worrying about which boy or girl made eyes at them at the last kegger, I walked around wondering if I was indeed passing my 11th kidney stone, or if my mind was making up the pain because of the glorious release provided by pain medications. A possible non-kidney stone was able to prevent me from the only class that I look forward to: Golfing 101. It is only on Monday and Wednesday mornings. Last Wednesday was a snow day, and the last two Mondays have been guest speakers (more like guest sleepers, boom roasted!). Maybe on Monday I will get to hit a few golf balls... O yea, it was -2 with the wind chill today. Classes were torturously boring today: hyperbolas in math, direct and indirect object pronouns in spanish, and electric potential in physics. That's code for glazed eyes in math, yawns in spanish, and mindless doodling in physics :-) I can smell pizza. Someone in my dorm has a pizza. I really, really miss pizza. Real pizza with extra cheese, pepperoni, grease soaking through the box, dipped in Papa John's garlic butter dipping sauce. A glorious heart attack waiting to happen. I (used to) like me some Papa John's. Buffalo wings, too? Yea, I smell buffalo wings. That's odd, people generally don't order pizza and wings at 11 at night on a Wednesday. LeBron dropped 52 on the Knicks tonight. Take that Jay-Z ... he's ours for at least a couple more years. Take that Kobe ... LeBron scored 52 points, 10 rebounds, 11 assists two nights after you scored 61 points, 3 rebounds, 0 assists against the exact same team in the exact same arena. Advantage: LeBron.

Welcome

Greetings readers! I am the Intestineless Wonder. So here's the deal, today is the 15 month anniversary of the day my life changed forever. I had a mid-gut volvulus on November 2, 2007 and needed to have 95% of my small intestine removed as well as a portion of my descending colon. Contrary to common misconceptions, the small intestine is not an everlasting tube that could stretch around the earth, nor is it over a mile long. An adult small intestine is usually about 20 feet long. This means, of course, that my small intestine is now only 10 inches long. Having such a short gut, I have what is known as "Short-Gut (or Bowel) Syndrome." I was on TPN for about 8 months. It was after my second blood infection from the port that my doctors and I decided to give life a try without TPN. Luckily for me, I have been able to survive for 7 months without TPN. Unfortunately, I have only survived, I have not thrived. My diet requires me to limit myself to about 50 grams of fat and 50 grams of sugar per day, yet I am also supposed to consume 3,000-5,000 calories per day. I have had difficulty even coming close to this since most of the foods I can eat are "diet" foods. I am also supposed to eat 6 to 8 small meals each day, as opposed to 3 large meals. I have passed 10 kidney stones since the initial twisting of my intestine, and yes, you read that correctly. I cannot gain any weight permanently, but I can lose a few pounds by skipping one meal. I take about 25 to 30 pills and supplements daily to make everything "work." I will be 19 years old this March, yet I feel as if I am about 40. I am a freshman in college at The Ohio State University. My life is incredibly difficult, considering everything I have to deal with. I have grown increasingly frustrated with my lack of results. So, I created this blog to give and get feedback. It is difficult finding information online because Short-Gut Syndrome only affects 1 in every 500,000 people. That means 1200 Americans have Short-Gut Syndrome, which is also how many people will earn a position on a Major League Baseball roster this spring. My goal is to find the other 1199 people to swap ideas for what does and does not work. [Although I may find it necessary to vent here every once in a while] Please feel free to comment with ideas or hypotheses, and I will add more posts with what I have tried. Sincerely Yours, The Intestineless Wonder