I might be in the market for a head transplant

I always take a little peek at the Yahoo news headlines when I get online. It’s my “home page,” though I’m thinking about changing that. Didn’t there used to be real news on that page? Somewhere along the line the page changed its format to contain a small percentage of valid news, a much larger percentage of celebrity and other silly shit “news,” and if you keep scrolling down, there are links to places masquerading as news but are actually sales pitches for questionable products.

Yes. Time to change my home page. It’s almost as bad as having the National Enquirer as a home page and I am now embarrassed to have shared this with my legions of readers. Far be it from me to be associated with a frivolous internet news page, right?

Anyway, today’s Yahoo news had a story that appears to be legitimate about an Italian surgeon preparing to do a head transplant. His Russian patient has a degenerative disease that has left the poor guy crippled and twisted in a wheelchair. Understandably, the young man would love to lead a more active, normal life and while there still are critical questions about the procedure – like how to keep the brain alive and healthy during what will surely be an epic surgery – the surgeon believes there is a 90% chance it will be a successful undertaking.

I’m really hoping it works out . . . .

But holy crap, right?

I mean, I guess it will have to happen sooner or later. But this is Frankenstein stuff happening in REAL LIFE, guys. I forget now what the news report said it would cost. It was either in the neighborhood of $5 million or $50 million and while I know there’s a big difference between the two, I can’t imagine Medical Mutual even shelling out for the lesser amount, so that’s a moot point in my book.

I bring up my insurance company, because I would totally do this. Aside from the gruesome fact that some unfortunate person would have to give up her life . . .  well, what body type would you choose to replace your own?

I’m thinking my first choice would be to attach my head to the body of an Eastern European gymnast. Ideally, this would be someone who has recently retired, because my brain is too old to put up with wearing pigtails and immersing myself in the training circuit for the next Olympics. The hairstyle, the excessive training, the teenage bickering and healthy meals. No. I’m not even sure if the gymnasts compete in the summer or winter games, so that’s another drawback.

Nice, right?

Nice, right?

I also don’t want to start all over again with menstruation and child-bearing years, but it might be interesting to have sex again, especially with a remarkably strong and limber body.

More than that, I would like to experience the ability to run and jump and do somersaults and find out what a perfectly fit body can do. I was a lumpy kid whose teenage years took place before Title IX, so the cute girls were supposed to be thin, but no one worried about muscles. In my teens and 20’s I’d starve myself to try to look as attractive as possible, but working out wasn’t seriously on anyone’s radar. It didn’t matter if you were essentially bones covered in marshmallows, as long as your measurements were acceptable.

Now, as a kid I do remember that physical fitness experienced a very brief period of popularity during the Kennedy administration. I loved my “Chicken Fat” record. Unfortunately, President Kennedy made the mistake of visiting Dallas and I don’t think LBJ was much into calisthenics.

Now, the sad thing is that with my head on some poor little Natasha’s body, I may be leaping about and feeling awesome for a while, but the fact remains that my BRAIN would still be in charge. This is the same brain that has led me astray with chips and dip and Diet Dr Pepper and wedding cake and cheeseburgers for the past 60+ years. This is the same brain that would rather lounge in the recliner catching up on new episodes of “Orange is the New Black” or reading one of the dozen-or-so new books I just binge-bought for my Kindle.

Me eating cake, watching Crazy Eyes eating cake would be nirvana for me.

Me eating cake, watching Crazy Eyes eating cake, would be nirvana for me.

I’m afraid it would not be long before Kate/Natasha started looking a little bottom heavy. I would still be reluctant to walk the dogs if it’s too hot, too cold or too wet. I would not stop liking Twizzlers and Malted Milk Balls. Can you say, “muffin top?” Oops.

Looks like Natasha gave her life in vain . . .

Looks like Natasha gave her life in vain . . .

I guess it’s just as well that head transplants are not likely to become popular in my lifetime. I’ve already trashed one body. Hardly seems fair to screw up another one (although you can bet super-rich people and celebrities will not be reluctant to upgrade as needed in generations to come).

And they will not be looking for gymnast bodies, I’m pretty sure . . . .

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