You know that song from Chicago, “Cell Block Tango”? The one that goes Pop-Squish-UhUh-Cicero-Lipschitz! Well it recently reminded me of testing my blood sugar. Listen: Prick-Squeeze-Breathe-Beep-Oh Shit! Far from being a sexy jail house number of Jazz Age homicide, the experience is more of a dissident exercise in angst, guilt, and frustration. That damn number never quite where you hope it will be, always out of balance and out of step. It is enough to turn anyone thoughts a little murderous.