Six years ago I mailed a thousand dollars and a sample of my spit to a company named 23andMe to analyze my genome.
What the hey? I’m an earlier adopter. I might learn something from the interpretation of my DNA. I was interviewed by Le Monde and a few others because paying $1,000 for something this far out labeled me as an interesting outlier. Or a nutcase.
I can’t say I’ve been impressed with the results I’ve received over the years. They’re right: I have Atrial Fibrilation. I also have Restless Leg Syndrome. But they’re also wrong: My ear wax (if you must know) is dry. I have an extreme alcohol flush response (I turn beet red).
Every now and again I receive email that a potential fourth cousin wants to talk with me. It’s not going to happen.