Wastes R Us

…in which Uncle Duke looks deep, deep inside.

The subject of bodily fluids has come up for me on more than one occasion this winter. In a family with a one-year-old and a six-year-old, in the middle of flu season, as well as a woman in her childbearing years, it's pretty hard to ignore. There are fluids of every color and consistency oozing, dribbling, squirting from one orifice or another most of the time. I must say I had never noticed how plentiful they were. Actually it has inspired in me a newfound respect for the human body as an efficient, disease-fighting machine. I never noticed before how abundantly we eliminate waste. At one point this winter, I myself was coughing, sneezing and honking up about 50% of my body weight daily in fluorescent phlegm. It wasn't pretty, but I was deeply grateful and thoroughly impressed. It was a fairly amazing performance by a body under siege.

It seems to me that human beings are by and large ashamed of our own waste products. We would prefer to pretend that we didn't have any. We'd like to think of ourselves as purely cerebral and spiritual beings. That we harbor more nasty germs, bacteria and pathogens than your average septic tank is not part of our self-image. It is evidence of our animal past. Something we'd just as soon not think about.

[Note: Humans have over 400 species of bacteria which inhabit their digestive tracts. They number in the trillions and weigh three to four pounds. Just thought you'd like to know.]

Altogether, it strikes me that this lack of acknowledgement is an unhealthy sign and a rather overt form of self-contempt. We smear on cosmetics and man-made fragrances to mask our own scent. We glop on stuff which effectively undoes several million years of evolution by blocking our sweat glands and diminishing the body's capacity to cool itself. This so we won't release any toxins and, God forbid, offend anyone.

Most of the animal kingdom uses urine as a means of identifying their territory. It is a type of signature, a proud banner. We, on the other hand, go into seclusion for a week after we eat asparagus. When we go in to move our bowels, we isolate and barricade ourselves and then spray, fog, deodorize and otherwise fumigate so whoever follows us in will not realize that our bodies are working the way they were designed to.

It's never made any sense to me that we buy an incredibly expensive dinner, savor the experience, cherish each morsel, and then are totally shamed and disgusted with the end product. What goes in must come out. And if we respect the one, we've got to respect the other. It's a mathematical, biological and psychological fact. You can look it up.

We should be proud. If we can jump high or run fast, we get plenty of praise. And elimination is just another physical skill. But stink up a bathroom and see how much praise you get. People think you're sub-human and eat road kill. Au contraire! Those who do it best live happier, healthier lives. It's in all the textbooks.

I think perhaps the time has come to be proud of our waste products. After all, those of us who are good at it have a much better chance of passing on our genes and playing a role in the 30th Century. Which is the whole point of being here, unless I'm way off. Good teeth and a full head of hair may help you get a date, but it's efficient elimination, well-packed feces and a good white corpuscle count that will serve us better in the long run.

Actually it strikes me that we are most of us secretly fascinated with our own waste. We feign disgust because society expects it. But we clandestinely examine it to gauge our health. And it is wise to do so. It is a measure of our mortality, that is for sure. Who has not inspected their own earwax or sniffed their belly button lint? Who among us has not examined their goobers or pondered their stool? Which one of you has not smelled your own farts with some satisfaction and affection? Confess now! Do not be ashamed, America! To love your own waste is to fully love yourself!

If we had our way, really, we'd discuss them, analyze them, with total strangers. But in today's culture, it is an indelicate topic. That's one reason why health care costs are out of control. It is OK to tell your doctor every detail about the products of your intestinal flu. It's encouraged. That's their job. But it's damned expensive.

I fully believe that one reason we are compelled to marriage is to have someone with whom we can freely discuss our unusual excretions. As far as I’m concerned, this is the definition of intimacy.

I understand that as the baby boomers get older, constipation and its remedies are becoming increasingly mainstreamed in advertising markets. Laxatives are a growth industry. So just as we brought sex and the body out of the Victorian closet, we'll demystify human waste and remove the stigma from elimination.

I foresee, as the population bulge moves into retirement villages and upscale rest homes, prime time specials on The Amazing Bile System, infomercials on miracle suppositories and "National Geographic Explores the Alimentary Canal." It's just around the corner.

We will see a gray-haired Oprah interviewing a guy who brought home videos of his intestinal transplant. And a portly Bob Villa demonstrating the care and cleaning of a colostomy bag. I tell you, I have seen the future and it is not in denial. It is a population that celebrates its wastes. So stand tall, America! Praise your juices! We are indeed the sum of our parts.