Okay.
The other day my palms were abnormally sweaty. I did not know why and I found it a bit concerning because maybe sweaty palms are the sign of a heart attack or something. So I looked up sweaty palms online and oh my dear lord. It turns out I am not alone in my sweaty palms plight:
www.sweaty-palms.com - This one features a very dapper Dr. Reisfeld (and his very dapper headshot) He is “a world leader and pioneer in the field of hyperhidrosis (the sweaty palms thing)”. This is impressive. Until you realize that it is probably not too difficult to be the world-leader in a field that no self-respecting medical professional would specialize in. “I spent 12 years in college and now I’m a doctor.” “Wow, what area do you specialize in?” “Sweaty hands.” “Wow, you are really doing god’s work.”
www.curesweatypalms.com - Featuring the friggin’ “Center for the cure of sweaty palms” - THERE IS A CENTER.
www.sweatypalmsinfo.com - Do you avoid shaking hands with others because of excessive sweating or sweaty palms? Are you embarrassed to meet new people because of excessive sweating? Do you sweat during your sleep, when you are alone, or even when you are not upset?
www.sweatypalms.org - “Persons with palmar hyperhidrosis often seek treatment because the condition almost always causes great distress, which may impair their quality of life causing numerous psychological, educational, and occupational problems.” – Honestly, we live very very very blessed lives when this is causing people psychological problems.
www.handsdry.com - With, I swear to god, the tagline “You’re not afraid to hug, thanks to Dr. Jim Garza.” And then it shows attractive people touching hands. Because if you visit Dr. Garza you will not only get dry hands, but you and the people you date will become attractive. Sign me up!
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Oh, and another thing happened today. A song got stuck in my head for no real reason. I haven’t heard the song in probably 10 years or so, but for some reason it made its way into my brain and it was all downhill from there. Especially considering the song was a song called “Rump Shaker”. And it actually features the lyrics, “I like the way you comb your hair UGH! I like the stylish clothes you wear UGH! I like the little things you do UGH! That make me want to get with you UGH!”
It made me think. When I’m 50 and I turn on an oldies station am I going to hear the real songs from my youth? “All I wanna do is zoom zoom zoom and a boom boom, just shake your rump!” (at least I think that’s what they say, the zoom zoom, boom boom part is unclear.) This makes me a little excited to listen to the oldies stations when I’m older, but it is also a little sad, because the oldies stations now are so innocent and even when they are referring to bad things they are referring to them in completely metaphorical, hidden ways that only the high people can understand. There just isn’t much mystery in “Let me see you shake your rump like a rump shaker.”
I found the music video on YouTube, I heart YouTube and it’s randomness. Anyone under the age of thirty and over the age of like 22 (and who isn't offended by shaking rumps) might enjoy it, anyone else should probably skip it. Oh, and be prepared to have the song stuck in your head for 3 days…it’s really a classic piece of American music.
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3 comments:
You know, it won't be long until you hear your favorites on the Muzak! I was surprised at how short the years seemed between me being a "rump shaker" to hearing my favorite songs on an elevator. Shocked really.
Oh and if you don't have snow, then no wonder you are sweaty! I was sweaty the other day too but it was because my electric blanket was set on high. Brrr...I love Canada.
My palms sweat when I drink caffeine. So that would be pretty much all day long. Glove time is approaching, which makes me happy.
thank goodness there are great medical minds out there focusing on the really important stuff. i only hope they don't suffer from the same malady to which they've committed their life's work. otherwise, that nobel prize might just slip right outta their sweaty palms.
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