Friday, February 18, 2005
 

Embalming and Citrucel

What do these two things have in common? Neither one of them makes good dinner conversation. Or good conversation at all, actually. Family members who have been exposed to my discourse on each one can confirm that.

First, embalming. This somewhat-creepy looking man comes into the library and asks if we have any books on funerals. I think oh, poor guy, probably planning a service for a relative or friend. We don't have any books on funeral planning (which seems like a significant deficit; of course, our only copy of Catcher in the Rye is missing, so it's not like we mind a shoddy stock of books); the only helpful thing I came up with was a book of quotations to be read at funerals (when I check out, nobody had better get a Bartlett's near me, or I'm coming back to haunt you).

So I ask him what other keywords he might be interested in. He says mortuary, which doesn't turn up anything at our library. He says he's interested in the funeral from start to finish. So that's maybe a little odd, but I figure he's still just wanting to see this friend or relative off to the great beyond and be there every step of the way.

I ask for another keyword (I'd tried a number that didn't pan out). He says embalming. Embalming? No search results for that, either; at least, no results that don't have to do with ancient Egypt. It's at this point that it begins to become clear that the man is deeply interested in embalming bodies. We refer him to the Occupational Handbook over in reference, but that's not exactly what he has in mind. Apparently, it's not running a funeral parlor that interests him so much as soaking dead people in formaldehyde.

That's when things got creepy.

I finally suggested that he go on the internet, where he could find "much more up-to-date information than we can provide" (standard line for: our library is incredibly deficient, which probably explains why the computers are more popular than the books). He gets on a computer.

Maybe an hour later, a coworker reports to me that the guy is back there looking at graphic embalming pics-- and that's all he's doing. Not research. Just looking at the photos.

Perhaps I don't have a lot of room to talk. I'm sure that I, at some point in my youth, checked out every archeological book in the juvenile section (for years, I wanted to be an archeologist), be it about dinosaurs, Greece, or mummies. And I was secretly pleased to note that my particular favorite book, Tales Mummies Tell, is still on our shelves. The graphic photos were definitely the highlight of that one. I remember John Paul Jones being an especially fascinating picture.

[pause here as I go to amazon and place an order for an ex-library edition]

And then there's my bog bodies obsession.

And that whole serial killer thing.

Maybe the embalming guy isn't creepy after all. Too bad he's too old for me.

And I think all of this would make charming information for a personals ad, don't you?

Then again, I read Magical Thinking earlier today, and there were enough tales there to keep me off the personals circuit. But if you're placing an AOL personals ad, you are asking for it.

And then there's my other favorite current conversational topic, Citrucel. I got down a whole glass today, with 3/4 of a scoop of the stuff. Ironically, the Citrucel is going to tie in with Magical Thinking; the first essay in that book involves Tang.

That's where I'm going like this. When I bought the stuff, I went for the sugar-free orange flavor. I was initially excited: when I pulled the lid off with my teeth (thus ensuring that no one but me is going to touch the stuff; it's too blasted expensive to share), it smelled like Tang.

Childhood memories began to surface. I can only remember drinking this at my great-aunt Nellie's house, though perhaps I had it other places, too. But every time my brother and I would go over there to be babysat (is that a correct passive past tense?), there would always be Tang.

Tang was exciting on several levels. First, there's the whole astronauts thing. But, more importantly, it's a really cool orange powder, and you get to add water with the refrigerator that has a water dispenser on the front. That was pretty hot stuff at the time. And she always gave it to us in these frosted-texture plastic cups, which I think added to Tang's unique flavor.

Back to Citrucel. I thought it there was hope that it would taste like Tang. Not that I've craved Tang in a decade or so, but when you're faced with the prospect of drinking liquefied fiber, you're definitely on the lookout for potentially positive aspects to the experience.

Not so. If anything, it tastes like extremely watered-down Tang. Tapwater temperature, too, not icy cold like from Aunt Nellie's refrigerator. We have a water dispenser in our refrigerator as of last year (I live with Luddites; they don't even have an answering machine), and I thought about adding cold water to the stuff, but that somehow seemed to further degrade the (non-traumatic!) childhood memories.

So it's an unpleasant chug of Tang-tinged tapwater with little solid bits floating in it. Eeeeyyyyyccch.

I have an idea, though. Research on the Citrucel website (no comments from the peanut gallery regarding too much spare time, please) reveals the contact us link. So I'm thinking that we rise up together, a nation united, and demand that sugar-free orange-flavor fiber powder taste like Tang. Tang first appeared in 1957, meaning that most of the people drinking Citrucel now were probably chugging Tang by the quart in their respective youths. So why can't we have that unique Tang taste now, when we've reached the ages where liquid fiber is required? I mean, this applies to pretty much anyone born post-WWII. We're talking national movement here! Unity! A nation undivided! A common cause!

Start e-mailing, people. There's work to be done.

Reading: Bazaar, Lucky Magazine, all of Magical Thinking, about a hundred pages of Fleshmarket Alley.
Listening: some song that my father is obsessed with called "Try My Love Again" by Bobby Moore (?), which I put on my mp3 player so that I could throw in some other tracks and make a full-length CD out of it.
Current Obsession: I think I've already covered enough obsessive territory in this post.
Alice: has twice today snuck into the living room, where the houseplants are. Given that she spits up whatever she eats, I fail to see the attraction.

Elvisette philosophized at 11:22 PM