Sunday, October 3, 2010

Fat Monkeys

So we recently became an official "Netflix" family, thanks to a trial offer.  We're more a "Hastings" kind of family anyway, but since we can also get instant movies via the Wii, we're doing it, and it's somewhat expanded my usual selection.  We typically rent whatever movie we intended to see in the theater but due to our lack of social life tend to miss before it's gone.  I've watched some films I'd otherwise pass by.  Today I, as any nerdy girl would do, curled up on the couch to watch National Geographic: Stress: Portrait of a Killer.  I'll save you the trouble and fill you in on the important parts.

Baboons and some other monkeys studied spend about 3 hours finding and consuming food for the day, leaving them the rest of their waking hours to simply: mess with each other in a more often than not mean-spirited way.

The illustrative clips equated in my mind with a typical day with pretty much any two or more children, including one of a clearly dominant bully trying to drown his lankier younger sibling.

The point of the studies was simply surrounding the idea that the hierarchy of status within the group determined the health factors of the population.  Those in positions of status were healthier, showing clearer arteries and lower blood pressure levels, and those in subordinate positions had clogged arteries, compromised immune systems, high cholesterol and actual spare tires.  Surprisingly, it was not because those lower-class baboons gathered at McDonald's to pound Big Macs while they chain smoked and did tequila shots.  It was simply because they spent the majority of their time stressed out because the more "important" baboons were busting their balls all day long.


They equated it with studies of people in England who work in the public-service sector over the course of 40 years, and found the same thing...those in higher positions tended to be healthier than working-class Joes.  Of course, even the HIGHEST of the positions they studied had jacked up teeth, which is a given for those Brits (not a point of the documentary, just my observation).

So how, then, can I explain my cholesterol levels when I was pretty much on the course of being a ball buster, not a ball bustee?  Apparently there's some busting going on in my life....could it be the two hooligans that I just spanked for the 47th time today for violating my cease and desist order on stairway-sleeping-bag-sledding?  Is it my concern that when I stick them in the tub in about 10 minutes one of them will inevitably try to drown the other?  Is it that when I get to work in the morning there might be a baboon in a suit (not naming any names) that will eat for 3 hours then have the rest of the day just to screw with the rest of us subordinates?  Will we scatter, asses in the air, attempting to escape the wrath?  Why can't someone just hold me and pick the lice out of my fur?

My plea to all:  Please stop busting my balls, I can't afford to take time off for a cardiac bypass right now.

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