Does Fat Insulate?

I pondered this question as I sat, shoulders dislocated inward with knees locked tightly, on the bus this morning. I entered the bus today with a strong determination to find a seat. I eagerly sought refuge from my pathetic, miserable, workaday life in the pages of a fiction novel I’ve been reading. I like to disappear into such stories on the way to and fro my godforsaken workplace. As I scanned the bus right, left and back, I saw but two openings. Or what appeared to be openings. See, they were not normal seat openings, but rather appeared to be half-seats. I quickly surmised the reason; in the seat connected to each empty half-seat sat a heifer of epic proportions. I did not let this dissuade me from my mission to sit and read. I scanned the bulk and the face which sat atop it of each Jersey cow. It appeared the pig on the right might also stink. Why? I don’t know, a hunch I guess. She appeared to be someone who stinks is all I can say. Resigning myself to my fate I seated myself next to pig port-side. I made several attempts at asserting myself physically to gain some small portion of my seat back, but to no avail. Each time I thrust an arm and elbow into the mound, the space created was slowly taken back as the pork flesh oozed to fill all voids. Not wanting to strain my shoulder in this losing fight I took out my book and huddled between Tons of Fun and the aisle. It was at this point I noticed the starboard swine was wearing a colossal down parka. I glanced right to see that the pig I went home with also wore a gargantuan down coat. It is 45 degrees today. Certainly not warm, but at least 25 degrees too warm for down parkas. Looking at these women one would think it were colder than a well digger’s ass. Others were appropriately dressed, your protagonist included. Maybe I’m wrong, but I thought that fat insulated? I thought the morbidly obese were chronically overheated, foreheads beading sweat as they sat near motionless eating hot dogs at a football game on a 12 degree January day. Perhaps I’m wrong. What I do know is that the rest of us suffer when someone of this stature multiplies their own ample girth with unnecessary goose fill.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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