Thursday, September 15, 2005

So hard to say goodbye

It's time I finally faced reality and stopped avoiding a cold, hard fact that's been staring me in the face for quite some time. But I've talked it over with close family and friends, and we've all drawn roughly the same conclusion.

I don't think I can eat sushi anymore.

"Gee, Ian," you might say. "That's easy. Sushi's raw fish. Eew! Go eat something cooked - like a hot dog." And hey, I like hot dogs. But I like sushi too. A lot. And maybe that's why I've been in such denial over these past couple of years.

I've been rather miserable over the past four days, the beginning of which can be traced to a sushi dinner I had at an unnamed restaurant in Ann Arbor. I'm not saying this particular place's sushi made me sick, because I've eaten there plenty of times and I haven't always woken up with my throat pinched tight the next day, my sinuses pounding, and - to put it delicately - bathroom issues. The same thing happened to me three months ago, and it's now clear I was wrong to blame the backwater "steakhouse" in Knoxville, TN where I had dinner.

No, I'm guessing it's a certain kind of sushi, or more specifically, sashimi. How many times do I have to look at two and two to figure out what they equal?

Tuna, why have you done this to me? It has to be you, in all your red rawness. It wasn't the California Rolls, dude. I eat those things all the time and feel fine afterwards. And there's nothing raw in those. It's you, Tuna. Don't keep waving that Charlie the Tuna puppet at me. He's cute. His glasses make me chuckle. (A fish! HA! With glasses!) But he's also cooked. I put him on sandwiches all the time. He's not the reason I've been bed-or-bathroom ridden the past four days. (Although I did manage to finish Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs thanks to the near-immobilization. Always happy to scratch something off my reading list.) In other words, he's not you.

I'll admit it took a two-by-four across the face from Mis Hooz before I finally caved in to sheer, cold logic. Here's an excerpt from our conversation the other night:

IC: You know, I wonder if I feel this way because of sushi? I think the last couple of times I've been really sick, I ate sushi.

MH: What? Of course it's sushi, you freaking 'TARD!

IC: Really? You think?

MH: No, I think it was the ice cubes - ppfffftttt!! That $#!+ is raw, yo! That means it's not cooked, Mensa Man! Why don't you change the name of your blog to Fried BRAIN Thoughts?!

IC: Fried "Brain"? But that messes up the whole--

MH: You should just be a vegetarian! Like me! I'm healthier than Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2! I'm doing one-handed push-ups as we're talking! Do you hear me even breathing heavy?

IC: Yeah, I see your point...

Well, to a point. She is very persuasive, but I can't give up the steak and chicken just yet. Especially not while it's still grillin' weather. But I am currently on the Mis Hooz-recommended remedy of "Three Hot Toddys and I'll call you some other morning." I don't know if they're workin', but I'm feelin' al-right.

(Image from "Get Fuzzy" ©2005 Darby Conley/ Dist. by UFS, Inc.)