mike contemplates his navel

[ed. 10/28/09: Tonight, to my stunned dismay, I learned that most of the population does not know what it means to "contemplate one's navel." Selfishly speaking, that's a problem; if my readers don't recognize the phrase, the following entry A) makes no sense and B) alienates you from my blog in a damn hurry, since you're sure to miss the humor and tag me a narcissistic asshole.

So, without further ado, here's a link that might offer up a few explanations:

>>CLICK HERE<<]

My navel is a circular, concave indentation in my abdominal region, centered equidistantly between my xyphoid process and the ventral tip of my pubis. It's also known as a belly button.

Today, my navel serves me no purpose; once, though, it allowed me to siphon nutrients and whatnot from my mother when I occupied her uterus, or so they tell me. I'm not entirely sure where these nutrients traveled once they passed thru the umbilical and into my navel, nor do I understand biological science in any capacity, but I DO know that without a navel, I'd be one of two things: 1) Not alive, on account of my not getting any nutrients, or 2) an alien. (Aliens are probably navel-less.) (Czech model Karolina Kurkova's dubious, wholly inconspicuous stomach marking may or may not be a navel. See pic here. Karolina is an exception to the rule...or, she is an alien.)

In the first Ace Ventura film, Jim Carrey allowed a pet bird to pick seeds from his navel. Not sure why I told you that, other than the fact that a navel was involved.

It seems as if the size and depth of one's navel depends, proportionally, on one's body weight...at least, that's been my experience. When I ran 50+ miles a week and sported a well-defined abdominal region, my navel was scarcely a navel, since there was nowhere for it to burrow. (At the time, I had 6-8% body fat.) Now that I'm five years and twenty pounds removed from college, my navel has excavated further and further into my belly (or, more accurately, my belly has risen to greet me), to the point where now I might be able to pour a small thimbleful of liquid into my navel without spillage.

Once, when I was young, I remember finding some small fuzzy stuff in my navel, which I now know to be lint. The lint was a dull brown color, and--as you'd expect--quite small. Strange. How'd it get in there?
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