Many people have asked how I got started blogging. Well, not that many...but a few. OK, no one has ever fucking asked me how I got started blogging...but I'm going to tell you anyway.
It began with a hastily-scribbled entry to a public forum called 'The Heckler' in 'The Sydney Morning Herald', which was both an online publication as well as a hard-copy newspaper. I submitted my piece to the relevant editor by e-mail...and promptly never heard from them again.
Then one morning about a month later I walked into the dealing room at work...and received a standing ovation from my fifty or so colleagues. When I asked what the applause was for they threw a copy of 'The SMH' at me and said, 'See for yourself.'
And there it was; my first published work...
July 23 2003
Pizza, alcohol and masturbation: it's all in the name of good health, argues Fingers.
Like many forty-two year-old Australian males, I worry about getting cancer. The reports are not encouraging; I'm a classic target for cancer of my colon, testicles, lungs, kidneys and many other assorted pink and grey bits. There are carcinogens everywhere I turn.
I'm reasonably familiar with the common, garden variety toxins such as Dihydroxyanthraquinone or Methylmethanesulfonate…and I do my best to avoid other sinister-looking, potentially dangerous, polysyllabic compounds whenever I can…but it's not easy. In many cases research results have been too late to help me. How could I know there was a possibility of contracting arsenic poisoning from walking on my outdoor-timber decking, or that tattooing my tax file number on my ass might cause leukemia?
From the beginning I harboured suspicions about the mystical microwave oven…and of course the mobile phone was always going to turn out too good to be true…but I never thought the blue ‘Smartie’ would become my silver bullet.
For years it's one bombshell after another for ‘carcinophobes’ like me. Sure there's been sporadic relief, such as the study which showed that red wine contained ‘resveratrol’, a cancer suppressant…but on the whole it's been one-way traffic. Now, in the space of a week, comes the news I've been waiting for all my life.
Firstly, a group of Australian researchers has asserted that the more men ejaculate between the ages of twenty and fifty, the less likely they are to develop prostate cancer later in life.
This is all quite thrilling, since the study specifically refers to ejaculation through masturbation rather than actual sex; something previous studies had even suggested could increase the risk of cancer.
Then before I could say ‘pass the moisturiser’ came news from Italy which revealed that eating pizza regularly could help stave off certain cancers of the stomach or digestive tract. The results of a study into Italian eating habits showed that people who ate pizza once or several times a week were less likely to get cancer than those who did not eat it at all.
Suddenly, the point of all those lonely Friday nights became clear. I had always felt a certain degree of shame going home, ordering my mushroom pizza, opening a nice bottle of Shiraz and consuming both before going on to, well, you know…
So imagine my elation in discovering that I have sub-consciously been engaging in some sort of anti-cancer-triathlon of self-abuse.
Perhaps I should be claiming a rebate from my private health insurer. If ‘NIB’ is happy to pay out for my Nike trainers…perhaps it would like to subsidise my DVD porno collection.
Should I be keeping the Dominos’ receipts?
Would Vintage Cellars be allowed to bulk-bill my monthly purchase of a case of reds?
Probably not, but it's a beautiful thought…