The Milano lesson

Last night before dinner, my wife ran out to the local A&P on an emergency cream-cheese run. We were planning a traditional post-Yom Kippur meal to break the fast (even though none of us fasted: she because she’s nursing the baby, me because I don’t trust my basal patterns that much, and the kids because they’re too young to subject them to such hunger). Also, we forgot to get it earlier, and you just can’t have bagels without cream cheese. I think that’s the Eleventh Commandment: “Thou shalt always put a schmear on thy bagel”.

But none of that matters.

The point of the story is this: along with said cream cheese, my wife also came home with a bag of Pepperidge Farm Mint Milano cookies.

Mmmmm…

Wordless Wednesday: Public service announcement

Why I support JDRF

On Thursday evening, I attended the JDRF Type-1 Adult Meetup in New York City.  It was a great chance to meet some of the friends I’ve made online, but now in real life.  It was also a chance to meet others who I’d not known previously: like the woman who was diagnosed fifty years ago, the mother whose infant son had T1 before she did, and the twentysomething who learned of his insulin-dependence just a few years ago.

To many, JDRF is all about finding a cure.  Or at least it should be about that, they say.  I’ve read and heard the criticisms: that they throw too much support towards the Artificial Pancreas, that they are negligent in not supporting Dr. Faustman’s research, that that they’re a sell-out to big Pharma and big business, and pretty much any other conspiracy theory you can come up with.

I don’t believe it.

In memoriam

I hate this kind of news.  I don’t know of the circumstances, but it doesn’t much matter anyway. Elizabeth is one of us.

Diabetes: lots of crap

Thanks to this month’s DSMA carnival topic, I imagine that there will be lots of blog posts this month about the bags that people have found to carry all their D-crap in.  They will be filled with words like cute and sparkly, adorable and clutch.  But I’m a guy, and I don’t do cute and sparkly.  To me, adorable is a word reserved exclusively for babies, and I’m still not sure how to use the word clutch as anything other than a verb.

So in my entry for this month’s DSMA Carnival, you won’t see those descriptions.  If I could summarize this post is a word, it would be messy.  Messy is manly, and that’s what I am.  If (like my mother) you are repulsed by messiness, then you’d best click over to some other web site. NOW.