Zen of Laughing Your Pants Off: Healthy Living

By SHIV HARSH

Laughter is NOT the best medicine. If you try selling that to a doctor like me, he will laugh at you.

 

So, what's the best medicine? It's medicine. If a patient with pneumonia consulted me and I prescribed laughter, I would end up in jail. The best medicine for him would be an antibiotic.

 

But laughter clearly is the second-best medicine. Or, at times, the third-best medicine, because some patients with pneumonia require two antibiotics.

 

Laughter releases endorphins, our own "feel-good" hormones. Endorphins promote a sense of well-being and even reduce pain. As you laugh, your stress hormones go down and your level of immunity improves. Even fake laughter does that, because the body can't distinguish between fake laughing and the real kind.

This book is a compilation of humorous columns. I trust that they will have you rolling with laughter. If you can't manage the real stuff, please fake it.

 

Your body will thank you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SHIV HARSH
• Release date: Mar 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393577898

Book preview

Zen of Laughing Your Pants Off

Shiv Harsh, MD, MRCP, FACC

Contents

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Introduction

Is your belt smarter than your phone?

Children are best when they are grand

My water is more paleo than your water!

Space-Time Continuum

Ready for the dog days of Quintilis and Sextilis?

Schrödinger and the dotted o

Latest gossip about Warren Harding? Read all about it in your doctor’s office

2B or not 2B, is that the? Retweet @Billythebard

Want to save on the toll? One, two, three, jump!

You want your selfie on rye or whole wheat?

Which mice, and which men, Mr. Steinbeck?

Dear Al: One chair ain’t gonna cut it

A rose by another name would be . . .

Would you like your reality real, virtual, or augmented?

Fly the healthful skies, and get your cardio, too

We love the moonwalk; just don’t try the sunwalk

Of rivers, and debt, and grades of E

What is the best time to eat a live frog?

Artificial intelligence and other germane issues

Inorganic gardening

Neither a borrower nor a lender be

Hang a lobster on the wall? I don’t think so!

Grocery shopping? Don’t forget your wrestling mat

Honey, I mishandled your diamond and the Egyptian mummy

James Bond made me do it, honest!

Give me an apple, but one with fizz

How’s your hippo? And how’s your campus?

Listen to your inner voice: no fake IDs

Cloud computing: it’s raining cats, dogs and columns

I want answers and I want them now

Hold on guys! Let me wear all my devices

Doctor, can you reprint my kidney, please?

The fountain of youth

Oh, for the ides of March and apple π!

The male color palette: heavy on the red, and light on the turquoise

Need a good oxymoron? How about men’s fashion?

Oh, for a cloud in the Carolina sky!

Chef Catherine’s special: tandoori pepián & nano-revenge

It’s a bird, it’s superman . . . it’s a hybrid plane!

Ye car, take me out to the ballgame!

Economics 101: clarity, Federal Reserve style

How to choose a doctor: 10 crucial things to look for

I want my coffee short, plump & full-bodied

Going to the gym? You’ll need tiger-face leggings

Make sports more fun: change the rules!

Three hundred horses and nary a license

Gingham check shirt meets plaid slub tie

Have a nice day, but spare me your weekend!

The new spring collection: bathing suits & murses!

Can your refrigerator boil eggs?

Excuse me, where do you keep your chess shoes?

New on social media: Shakespeare teaches skin care!

Excuse me, do you have a satellite I could borrow?

A necktie to brighten this year’s summer solstice

How old are you, give or take a million?

Time to leap over a lazy, slowing earth!

Keeping track of space-time is a drag!

It’s a bird, it’s a plane . . . it’s platinum!

Is your car’s personality red or yellow?

Hey, ET! Want to buy a bridge in Brooklyn?

What do women want? Just ask your phone!

Hurray for our ex-Presidents!

iFish, iExercise, iText, but iNo Talk!

Can your kid’s smart shirt do his homework?

My water is more paleo than your water!

Son, you traded New York for . . . what?

Honest, teacher, the cloud ate my homework data!

Smart kids are ready for smart veggies

Snackers of the world, unite!

Do it myself? Thanks, but no, thanks!

Ducks aren’t what they used to be

We don’t have to name the President right away

Thou (which thou?) shall not do what?

Take a $1,000 aspirin and call me in the morning!

I’ll sell you my smartphone for three camels

Wanted: a nice university for a great team!

Have crayons, will play ball for a year!

Kids, don’t bother learning how to speak!

What man has put together, let us take asunder

Invented it? Now create some demand, buddy!

England should take the fork in the road

Put on your headsets & go to the kitchen

Message for Havana: Keep your cigars, give us our missile

Yo, fashionistas! How haute is your couture?

Outsiders to run the country? Only if they have money!

Have speech, will travel . . . for a really high fee

Hey buddy, got a bank you could sell me?

Build two walls and call me in the morning

Your cat can do back flips? Don’t send me the video!

How fast can you smell roses and carnations?

The Honorable Mr. Joe tries to write a law

Folks, did you remember to charge your sneakers?

The new paradigm: Bundle services to make a bundle!

I gig, you gig, we all gig, for . . .

It’s not quite The Son of Pickwick Papers

Have you arranged your ducks lately? Call me!

Dubai is beckoning me and my nano jewelry

Doc’s running late? Have a blood pressure lover’s pizza!

Want to come visit me? You’ll need a visa!

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Shiv Harsh

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To my wife, Renu. You give meaning to everything.

And, by the way, would you mind laughing a little louder when reading my columns?

When you do laugh, open your mouth wide enough for the noise to get out without squealing, throw your head back as though you were going to be shaved, hold on to your false hair with both hands and then laugh till your soul gets thoroughly rested.

Josh Billings

Introduction

Laughter is the best medicine … NOT! Not by a long shot. I should know. I am a doctor.

Medicine is the best medicine. Imagine you have pneumonia (God forbid!). And you consult me (while I was still in practice). If I tell you to laugh your head off, and that would be your prescription, you would have my head on a platter.

No, an antibiotic would be the best medicine for you.

Laughter, though, easily comes in second best.

The average 4-year-old laughs approximately 300 times a day. The average 40-year-old manages to do so only 4 times. Laughter causes the release of endorphins in the body: our own feel-good hormone. This clearly relieves stress. And guess what? The body can't tell the difference between fake laughter and the genuine kind. So, go ahead, force yourself to laugh, even when you are not feeling up to it. Very soon, you will find yourself progressing to the real kind. Your body will thank you for it.

And the world will laugh with you.

The columns which follow first appeared in the Courier-Tribune, our local newspaper in Asheboro, North Carolina, where I have lived for the last 34 years. I appreciate the opportunity given to me by the editors and publishers of that newspaper. I hope you enjoy them.

If you don't, blame the Asheboro publication for the error of their ways.

Is your belt smarter than your phone?

How can I tell the time with this contraption, son?"

My son rolled his eyes.

I studied him closely. Over the years, I have suffered my fair share of eyes being rolled in my direction. Mostly by my kids. Any adult with kids of a certain age knows what I am talking about.

Such an act used to elicit all kinds of responses from me. In due course, however, I decided on a different strategy. That of studying and classifying the nuances of eye rolling.

Kids often roll their eyes and turn away, implying that God has not imparted much wisdom to grown-ups. This is a What you gonna do? response. Then there is an acknowledgement that they are really stuck, and they will have to waste valuable time steering a clueless adult through something that is simple for a kid. This involves a slightly different roll of the eyes.

My son was trapped, and he knew it. And he knew that I knew it. He had his eyes on my car, which I was planning to replace soon. If he played his card’s right, he could have a set of wheels. Thus, he could only go so far in annoying me.

He sighed and looked at my wrist, where a rather horrid contraption was tied.

This is a smartwatch, I said proudly.

I know, Dad, my son said. But it’s kind of dead. When did you last recharge it?

Recharge? I asked. My last watch responded to light. I did not have to do anything else.

But your last watch did not allow you to make phone calls, did it? he asked.

Oh, so that’s what it was doing, I said. I was out jogging this morning, and all kinds of sounds started coming from it.

It might have been dialing, my son said. Or it could have been alerting you about incoming calls or texts.

But it sounded like it was talking to me, I said.

It might have been, my son said. That probably drained its battery, trying to explain its high-tech functions to you. He ducked quickly to evade the pen I threw at him.

By the way, before we charge this, let’s try something. Shake your wrist, Dad.

I did, and the screen blinked. But it appeared kind of frozen. I looked at my son.

Where’s your phone, Dad? he asked.

I whipped it out.

Not this one, Dad, your smartphone.

Your mom just borrowed it. Hers broke, I said.

Dad, this device will not work unless you have a compatible smartphone with you.

What else do I need to carry with me for it to work? I asked. My checkbook? Social Security number? Driver’s license?

There’s no need for sarcasm, Dad. This is a very smart watch, not just any old dumb piece of steel.

We got everything sorted out eventually. My son showed me the various things my smartwatch was capable of. It had a fancy wrist band with all kinds of bells and whistles, and also an exercise tracker. I said I wanted to listen to music while jogging, so my son made me buy wearable shoulder straps with speakers built in.

I looked like a mountain climber when I went for my jog the next morning. Shoulder straps, speakers, backpack with my cell phone and other doodads, glasses with internet connections, and the big old smartwatch with a strap that gleamed and glistened and spoke to me.

Would you mind picking up the pace a little bit, Grandpa? Your heart rate is lower than your IQ, a smart-aleck female voice came from my wrist after I had been huffing and puffing for a half hour.

That did it for me. I headed home, where my son had bought a couple of Father’s Day presents for me.

Here, Dad, try this smart belt.

I did. And it went, Sir, have we weighed ourselves lately?

The next morning, I tried the smart toothbrush.

Sir, it soon intoned gravely, you mind going back to your molars for thirty more seconds?

I told my son to return all these smart appliances. Why do I need machines to smart-mouth me when I already have a wife and two kids?

Children are best when they are grand

If I had known grandchildren were this much fun, I would have had them first."

I’m not sure who said this, but he or she was bang on target.

Now, before I start getting an avalanche of angry mail, let me clarify. I have nothing against children. At least, not in principle. It is the practical aspect which poses a few problems. Not insurmountable ones. Just enough to keep you in a tizzy.

Not that I have complaints about my kids. As kids go, mine were OK. It’s like people’s opinion about Congress. Most people say that their congressman is fine; it is Congress in general that is a problem.

So, my kids were OK. But other people’s kids? That is a different story altogether.

It is kind of tough to write about kids in less than glowing terms. Society frowns on it. One loves motherhood and apple pie. One salutes the flag. And one loves all kids. Every politician worth his salt kisses little babies on the campaign trail.

So, it is with some trepidation that I approach this subject. It is a little bit like the third rail of American politics. One talks cautiously and respectfully about Social Security. And so it is with children.

In much of the world, children are Social Security. Elderly, retired people count on their adult children to take care of them financially. Private savings, private pensions, and government assistance are often a pipe dream. The system works at times. And there are times when it does not.

So, grandchildren are God’s reward for not killing our children.

Historically, children were considered the property of parents. I tried to remind my kids of this fact when they were young. It did not go down very well. Especially since their mother took their side.

I actually felt quite often that the tables had been turned in our household. My kids treated my wife and me as if we were their property. Dad, I need a gazillion dollars by tomorrow for summer camp. Everybody’s going. So, I have no choice. I have to go. Mom, I need a new bike. This old one you bought last week does not match my shoes.

But this is nothing new, as I found out recently. Even Cicero, the Roman statesman (106-43 B.C.), was not happy. He, in fact complained, Times are bad. Children no longer obey their parents, and everyone is writing a book.

Well, my wife and I are made of sterner stuff. So, we survived parenthood with body and soul intact, for the most part. And, lo and behold, we were in due course promoted to grandparenthood. Our egos, I must admit, were slightly wounded. As adolescents, most kids tend to doubt the sagacity of their parents. As Antoine de Saint-Exupéry said, Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.

Well, that changes with time. We recently flew to Chicago to ostensibly visit my daughter and son-in-law, but the covert mission was to spend time with our first grandchild, the lovely Ms. Reyna.

Oh, how time is the great leveler. My know-it-all daughter seemed to have learned a thing or two from Mark Twain. You know what that dude said, don’t you? When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant, I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.

Well, Father’s Day rolled into Grandfather’s Day, rolled into Christmas and Thanksgiving all at once. That was the amount of fun we had. At least that was what I thought. My daughter might have had a different opinion. My philosophy was like that of Gene Perret: Grandparents are there to help the child get into mischief they haven’t thought of yet. As also, You’re more trouble than the children are is the greatest compliment a grandparent can receive.

Be that as it may, I had the time of my life. I can now honestly advise you like Gore Vidal, Never have children, only grandchildren.

My water is more paleo than your water!

Would you like our zero-calorie, zinc-enhanced water, or today’s high-fiber, low-carb special?" the waiter purrs as he hands us all a pre-cocktail water menu.

Surprised? You shouldn’t be. Water is the new soda. By 2017, water will outsell soda in the US. Our friendly marketing people have persuaded us to shell out good money for something we can get more or less free out of a faucet. Hey, only losers drink out of a faucet! The US water supply is among the safest in the world, but why let facts get in the way of high fashion?

In 2000, every man, woman, and child in the US drank 16.74 gallons of bottled water. By 2014, this had gone up to 34.02 gallons, at a cost of $18.82 billion.

So, how can you say that your water is better than the next guy’s? You start with a catchy name. There are actually brands out there called Real Water, Happy Water, and People Water. Before those guys start unleashing their lawyers on me, let me assure everybody that I have the utmost respect for water of all kinds, including real, unreal, or partly-real water, happy water, sad water, frustrated water, people water, and animal water. I do not discriminate between waters based on name, color, creed, national origin, gender, religion, or marital status. So there!

After the name, you specify the filtering process. Companies use limestone, quartzite, and sandstone. Why stop there? I would suggest using gold, diamond, granite, or even charcoal from recently active volcanoes in South America. That should fetch you premium dollars from the jet-set.

Next, you fortify your water with minerals and vitamins. Or you can opt for stalks of green coriander or mint infused into the water. In India, ITC Hotels sell zero-mile water bottled specially inside the hotels. This avoids the carbon miles used by plastic bottles used for packaging regular water. And you get cinnamon or fennel flavoring as a bonus! If you can wait a little longer, they are planning more varieties flavored with other herbs and spices. I believe you could use that water for cooking your spicy chicken dish!

Folks, there is a huge market for innovation here. Elderly people with poor appetites will need high-protein water. For a balanced diet, you could offer water with desirable proportions of carbs, protein, and fat. For the fussy, how about low-fat water? Or should that be skim water? And to meet government guidelines and avoid heart issues, I would strongly suggest a no-trans-fat water.

The research is still not conclusive, but a lot of doctors like omega-3 fats. So, the really savvy consumer is likely to demand omega-3 enhanced, low-omega-6, free-range water, not raised in cages. The socially conscious entrepreneurs should not ignore that market. Can paleo-water be far behind?

An Indian company has come out with a watermelon-variant water. This seeks to remedy the low intake of fruits and vegetables by the locals. One bottle of this water has as much soluble fiber as 12 slices of whole wheat bread. So if your child is a picky eater, go for this brand, which takes care of half of a person’s daily fiber requirement.

But all of this is good only for hoi polloi or regular folks. The rich, as you know, are different, and want something special. For them, they have Kona Nigari water. This is desalinated sea water collected from 2,000 feet below the surface of the ocean in an area off Hawaii. In Japan, this will set you back $400 for a 750 ml bottle.

But what if you are truly remarkable, and have a special occasion coming up? Then your only choice would be Acqua di Cristallo Tributo a Modigliani. This bottle is hand-made, covered in 24-carat gold, and contains natural spring water from Fiji and France, as well as glacial water from Iceland. By the way, each bottle also contains 5 mg of sprinkled 23-carat gold dust.

You just had to ask about the price, didn’t you? How about $60,000 at a recent auction, a world record?

Moi, get me a glass of Acqua Regular Tributo a Kitchen Faucet any day. I’ll put the $60,000 aside for the kids’ college.

Space-Time Continuum

Space is continuous. Except when it is not. It is quite possible to run out of space. Ask my wife. She is constantly running out of space. Particularly in her closet. Actually, this should be plural, as in closets. I am using the singular as a form of self-defense. My wife will kill me if I tell you that she has multiple closets. And that’s just for her shoes. Don’t even get me started about clothes. There, the continuum of space gave up the ghost years ago. And my clothes tumbled out in search of a different continuum, perhaps in a parallel universe, at the other end of our friendly neighborhood black hole.

Albert Einstein famously described the space-time continuum. They say that he thought matter was just a bump in the space-time continuum. Good old Al also spoke at length about black holes. He was a funny guy, our Albert. Glamorous hostesses always invited him to their fancy parties. Whenever energy levels sagged, and conversation became boring, Al could be counted on to liven things up by discussing various continuums (or should it be continua?) and declaring his favorite, the space-time continuum, to be the prettiest of them all. At which point, heated debates would break out, tempers would flare, gentlemen would challenge each other to duels, damsels would swoon, and a good old time would be had by all.

This would, of course, generate a lot of heat, but shed no light, on either the space-time continuum or black holes. But if Al had shed light on black holes, they would no longer be black. Unless that light was swallowed up by the said black hole, as it usually is.

Consequently, I continue to have only the foggiest idea about the above two entities, especially

Reviews for Zen of Laughing Your Pants Off

[nob · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Slightly amusing ramblings from a very american writer. It takes too much energy to read.