|
Musings from Moyieboy ... |
|
The itchy and scratchy world we live in |
|
May 22, 2017 |
By Ken Carpenter
I was in the Army in 1973, stationed in
Yokohama, Japan. One of my friends and I decided
to escape the rat race for a weekend so we drove
north in search of an isolated beach, armed with
blankets, matches, Kirin beer, a bag of rice
balls wrapped in seaweed and little else.
After a few hours and numerous wrong turns we
found what we wanted, a mile-long stretch of
beach with no houses or people in sight. We
packed our meager supply of possessions to the
sand, rounded up enough driftwood for a fire and
made a small camp.
We stayed up late, sipping beer and telling
lies, then curled up in our blankets next to the
dying embers, using our bell bottom pants for
pillows. The next morning would bring a wake up
call unlike any in the history of man.
Talking of it later, we didn’t know for sure if
it was the fierce itching or the 50 Japanese
voices counting some kind of cadence that woke
us up. As we groggily rubbed our eyes and sat
up, already scratching furiously, we discovered
that we were in the middle of a circle of
several dozen men and women wearing matching red
and black sweat-suits, doing jumping jacks.
This was obviously the opportunity of a lifetime
for them, finding two Gaijins (Japanese word for
“outside person”) snoozing on their exercise
beach. Most of them were smiling as they
bellowed out their counts, but several were
giving us the evil eye.
As disconcerting as this whole episode was, it
soon became secondary to the infernal itching
our whole bodies suffered. I was from North
Idaho and my buddy was from Iowa, so we knew
nothing about sand fleas living by the ocean.
They knew plenty about us though, mainly that as
well as being dumb, we were right tasty.
There were too many itches to fight at one time,
and our bodies were covered with red welts from
top to bottom. We jumped up and ran toward the
only chance of relief we had, the ocean, where
we dove in and started stripping off our
clothes.
The circle of exercisers was now a half moon
pointed our way, and they seemed to take great
pleasure in our red spotted white skin and
futile attempts to scratch every itch. Even
handfuls of sand scrubbed all over our bodies
did nothing except make the white spots between
bites turn pink.
Any enthusiasm we had for further adventures
that day died on the beach, so we miserably
washed our stuff free of fleas and headed home.
We were the butt of every itch joke ever told
for weeks, or at least until someone else did
something stupid.
Itching is no joke to lots of people, or at
least their own itch isn’t, and its definition
has not been improved since 1660; “An unpleasant
sensation that provokes the desire to scratch.”
For centuries scientists thought itching was
just a mild form of pain. It wasn’t until the
1980s that researchers determined that there is
itching and there is pain, but they are separate
things.
Of course, if you scratch an itch so hard that
you gouge meat out of yourself, pain joins in. A
surgeon reported that one woman was so tormented
by an itchy scalp that would not go away, she
one night in her sleep scratched through her
skull and into her brain.
I have recently been cursed by an infernal
itching that moves everywhere from my toes to
the top of my head, in random order. Benedryl
helps and some ointments help, but nothing makes
it totally go away. My shin bones are the worst,
and they look like I was attacked by a rabid
weasel. Since then I have lightened up on the
scratching, but even though I know you only make
it worse by scratching, I can’t stop.
There is an International Forum for the Study of
Itch, founded by Dr. Gil Yosipovitch, who is
known as “The Godfather of Itch.” Even with all
the studies they conduct, much about itching
remains a mystery.
While there are thousands of things that can
cause an itch, from bugs to allergens to
internal diseases to chemicals, and on and on,
there is not a particular drug aimed toward
doing away with the itch. Japan thinks they have
one to reduce it, but they admit it won’t end
it.
The oddest thing about itches is that watching
somebody scratch, listening to somebody talk
about itching or reading about itches is enough
to make a person start scratching.
Dr. Yosipovitch conducted a seminar where a
person suffering from constant itching sat up on
stage, scratching while they talked. About
60-percent of the audience started scratching
themselves.
Contagious yawning is a similar phenomenon, said
to be caused by mirror neurons, whatever they
are. Even apes have been seen to indulge in
contagious scratching and yawning.
Scratching in public is usually not a good way
to endear yourself to strangers, who
automatically assume you have cooties. If you
just have to scratch and you get one of those
“you lowlife” looks from an onlooker, tell them
they have a tick on their neck.
That brings to mind a scene from an old black
and white movie from the 30s. I can’t remember
the name of the movie, but one line has stayed
with me.
A grubby little street urchin is standing
outside a wrought iron fence, peering wistfully
at the manicured grounds while idly scratching
himself all over. A snobby fellow in a top hat
walks by and makes a rude comment about the
unseemly scratching.
The dirty-cheeked scamp looks up at him, still
digging at his bony ribs, and says in his wee
voice, “Well, if ya scratch ya gotta itch,
doncha Mister?”
Hope you all have your back scratchers handy. |
|
Questions or comments about this
article?
Click here to e-mail! |
|
|
|
|
