Thursday, March 09, 2006
Too Much Coffee!
Totter into a McDonalds to meet the boys for a gab session and order a senior coffee and you might just be taking your life into your hands. We are not talking about spilling the coffee in your lap anymore but actually drinking it. Scientists have discovered that the CYP1A2 gene (hereafter referred to as the caffeine gene) could put you at risk of a cardiac arrest if you drink two or more cups of coffee per day. And why did you go there in the first place if not to gab and gawk? At 25 cents per cup it is dirt-cheap. Not everyone is at risk--only those who have a slow processing caffeine gene. A study in Costa Rica found that half the people in an urban area were at risk (How much more urban can you get than a McDonalds?). If you decide that trotting down to the nearest Starbucks is a better bet, then you need to think again. There is no senior coffee. Not even close. When the cash register clinks up your total, you might just die of cardiac arrest on the spot. The price can cause a Starbucks novice’s blood pressure to shoot way up. The Costa Rica study clearly shows that caffeine causes a significant increase in blood pressure—especially the second and third cup. The average male consumes 3.1 cups of coffee per day—about a half a cup more than the female. So you had better have your baby aspirin with you! Take two of those with each cup.
Now what can we say about really heavy coffee consumers? My friend Richard runs through a quart thermos bottle every hundred miles on the road. Our rule of thumb was never to get between Richard and the bathroom door. If you happen to go to a one-stall restaurant and someone is beating madly on the door, it is probably Richard. We went to a Chinese Restaurant once with my friend Rheinhart and he confused the hot mustard pitcher with the cream pitcher. Whew! That was close to cardiac arrest right there. And don’t think anyone is going to give you mouth to mouth after you have downed a half a pitcher of hot mustard.
What the Costa Rica study does not tell us is very interesting indeed. Caffeine seems to be everywhere—soft drinks and tea especially. But it is in chocolate as well. A chocolate chip cookie coupled with two cups of java might just put you over the edge.
Now for the silver lining. The Costa Rica Study might just point to a solution for the ever-evasive Social Security day of reckoning. Instead of the annual COLA, just send every social security recipient five pounds of coffee every month. That should clear out all of the folks with the slow caffeine gene in a hurry. The next time someone gives you a pound of gourmet coffee beans, think very carefully. Is someone trying to send me a message?
Totter into a McDonalds to meet the boys for a gab session and order a senior coffee and you might just be taking your life into your hands. We are not talking about spilling the coffee in your lap anymore but actually drinking it. Scientists have discovered that the CYP1A2 gene (hereafter referred to as the caffeine gene) could put you at risk of a cardiac arrest if you drink two or more cups of coffee per day. And why did you go there in the first place if not to gab and gawk? At 25 cents per cup it is dirt-cheap. Not everyone is at risk--only those who have a slow processing caffeine gene. A study in Costa Rica found that half the people in an urban area were at risk (How much more urban can you get than a McDonalds?). If you decide that trotting down to the nearest Starbucks is a better bet, then you need to think again. There is no senior coffee. Not even close. When the cash register clinks up your total, you might just die of cardiac arrest on the spot. The price can cause a Starbucks novice’s blood pressure to shoot way up. The Costa Rica study clearly shows that caffeine causes a significant increase in blood pressure—especially the second and third cup. The average male consumes 3.1 cups of coffee per day—about a half a cup more than the female. So you had better have your baby aspirin with you! Take two of those with each cup.
Now what can we say about really heavy coffee consumers? My friend Richard runs through a quart thermos bottle every hundred miles on the road. Our rule of thumb was never to get between Richard and the bathroom door. If you happen to go to a one-stall restaurant and someone is beating madly on the door, it is probably Richard. We went to a Chinese Restaurant once with my friend Rheinhart and he confused the hot mustard pitcher with the cream pitcher. Whew! That was close to cardiac arrest right there. And don’t think anyone is going to give you mouth to mouth after you have downed a half a pitcher of hot mustard.
What the Costa Rica study does not tell us is very interesting indeed. Caffeine seems to be everywhere—soft drinks and tea especially. But it is in chocolate as well. A chocolate chip cookie coupled with two cups of java might just put you over the edge.
Now for the silver lining. The Costa Rica Study might just point to a solution for the ever-evasive Social Security day of reckoning. Instead of the annual COLA, just send every social security recipient five pounds of coffee every month. That should clear out all of the folks with the slow caffeine gene in a hurry. The next time someone gives you a pound of gourmet coffee beans, think very carefully. Is someone trying to send me a message?
Monday, March 06, 2006
Strange but True!
We have just finished a cruise to the Panama Canal. Our first stop was Half Moon Cay in the Bahamas. As I sat in a small tender making our way to the shore, I asked the woman seated next to me where she lived. "Anchorage,” she replied. At our last stop at the Sloth Sanctuary in Costa Rica I overheard Judy, one of the owners, explain that she had met her husband Bill thirty years ago in Alaska. We then walked down to the riverbank and boarded some canoes for a brief jungle tour. Ten canoes had already departed before we got our chance. Five of us got in. The woman in front of us was from Anchorage. Of the six to eight people from Alaska on the tour out of a total of 1400, we wound up seated next to three of them in small boats, two on the first day and one on the final day. Pure happenstance!
It is a well-known fact that if you have a room with 23 strangers in it, the odds are that 2 of them will have the same birthday. With 60 people in the room the odds go up to 97%. I have tried this many times and it always seems to work. This phenomenon has its own name—the birthday paradox. My grandson Braden has two cousins who are ten and three who were born on Feb. 3. He also has a stepbrother who was born on that date. My father was born on October 30 and his son was born on the 31st. However, if it were not for Daylight Savings Time they would have shared a common birthday.
Then there was the strange case of Mark Twain. He wrote that he came into this world with Halley’s Comet and he wanted to go out with it. He got his wish. At least sorta! He actually was born about two weeks early and died about three weeks too late. In his case it was close enough.
Then there was John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, two of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.
As John Adams lay dying his last words were, “At least Jefferson still lives!” Ironically, Jefferson had died a few hours earlier. The date—July 4, 1826.
A few weeks after Diana and I were married, I suggested on a lark that we try to feel colors. We took times closing our eyes very tight and guessing several times without any success. Two days later I picked up a copy of Gods, Graves, and Scholars and started reading. Five pages into the chapter I was reading about Chichen Itza and the sacred Blue Cenote, when my blood suddenly ran cold. It seems that there was a belief that divers could somehow “feel” colors in the pitch-black waters of the cenote. A week later I was reading another book about Padre Keno and I had a similar experience about a conversation two days prior. Then it happened again two weeks later. Since that remarkable month I have had two other occasions on which I made a strange observation and then read about an almost identical parallel within a few days. It was almost like reading a novel and an important clue is presented a chapter or two earlier and then you are slapping you head and muttering “Of course!”
Six or seven years ago Diana and I were in Nashville, Tennessee, on the Nash Trash Tour. I have never been a fan of country music, but the night before we had gone to the Ernest Tubb museum so I had had a brief exposure. One of the frizzled-hair sisters on the Tour threw out the question “Who was the first person to record music live on a radio?” No one had a clue. “Come on,” she said. “Guess!” She looked straight at me. “Ernest Tubb,” I said in desperation, not being able to think of anyone else. Her mouth dropped open. “That is correct.” “That is the first time anyone has ever gotten that answer correct.” She threw me a Nash Trash magnet. She then hit us with a real stumper. “How did Conway Twitty get his name?” “From Conway, Arkansas!” I shouted. Again her mouth fell open. And she threw me a second Nash Trash magnet. “But,” she explained, “that is only half correct. Twitty came from Twitty, Texas.” It did not matter. I had two magnets. It would have been a great day to have been on the “Sixty-Four Thousand Dollar Question!”
We have just finished a cruise to the Panama Canal. Our first stop was Half Moon Cay in the Bahamas. As I sat in a small tender making our way to the shore, I asked the woman seated next to me where she lived. "Anchorage,” she replied. At our last stop at the Sloth Sanctuary in Costa Rica I overheard Judy, one of the owners, explain that she had met her husband Bill thirty years ago in Alaska. We then walked down to the riverbank and boarded some canoes for a brief jungle tour. Ten canoes had already departed before we got our chance. Five of us got in. The woman in front of us was from Anchorage. Of the six to eight people from Alaska on the tour out of a total of 1400, we wound up seated next to three of them in small boats, two on the first day and one on the final day. Pure happenstance!
It is a well-known fact that if you have a room with 23 strangers in it, the odds are that 2 of them will have the same birthday. With 60 people in the room the odds go up to 97%. I have tried this many times and it always seems to work. This phenomenon has its own name—the birthday paradox. My grandson Braden has two cousins who are ten and three who were born on Feb. 3. He also has a stepbrother who was born on that date. My father was born on October 30 and his son was born on the 31st. However, if it were not for Daylight Savings Time they would have shared a common birthday.
Then there was the strange case of Mark Twain. He wrote that he came into this world with Halley’s Comet and he wanted to go out with it. He got his wish. At least sorta! He actually was born about two weeks early and died about three weeks too late. In his case it was close enough.
Then there was John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, two of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.
As John Adams lay dying his last words were, “At least Jefferson still lives!” Ironically, Jefferson had died a few hours earlier. The date—July 4, 1826.
A few weeks after Diana and I were married, I suggested on a lark that we try to feel colors. We took times closing our eyes very tight and guessing several times without any success. Two days later I picked up a copy of Gods, Graves, and Scholars and started reading. Five pages into the chapter I was reading about Chichen Itza and the sacred Blue Cenote, when my blood suddenly ran cold. It seems that there was a belief that divers could somehow “feel” colors in the pitch-black waters of the cenote. A week later I was reading another book about Padre Keno and I had a similar experience about a conversation two days prior. Then it happened again two weeks later. Since that remarkable month I have had two other occasions on which I made a strange observation and then read about an almost identical parallel within a few days. It was almost like reading a novel and an important clue is presented a chapter or two earlier and then you are slapping you head and muttering “Of course!”
Six or seven years ago Diana and I were in Nashville, Tennessee, on the Nash Trash Tour. I have never been a fan of country music, but the night before we had gone to the Ernest Tubb museum so I had had a brief exposure. One of the frizzled-hair sisters on the Tour threw out the question “Who was the first person to record music live on a radio?” No one had a clue. “Come on,” she said. “Guess!” She looked straight at me. “Ernest Tubb,” I said in desperation, not being able to think of anyone else. Her mouth dropped open. “That is correct.” “That is the first time anyone has ever gotten that answer correct.” She threw me a Nash Trash magnet. She then hit us with a real stumper. “How did Conway Twitty get his name?” “From Conway, Arkansas!” I shouted. Again her mouth fell open. And she threw me a second Nash Trash magnet. “But,” she explained, “that is only half correct. Twitty came from Twitty, Texas.” It did not matter. I had two magnets. It would have been a great day to have been on the “Sixty-Four Thousand Dollar Question!”
