Losing a Benjamin

Weight Loss Icon: John Warner

2007-08-06T22:55:00.000-07:00

Today I have the distinct pleasure of inaugurating Sen. John Warner (R-Va.) into the chamber of Weight Loss Icons. While I was somewhat hesitant to praise a Republican politician again, it would be unpatriotic for me to filibuster Warner's nomination. The senior senator from Virginia's contributions to the spirit of weight loss are enough to allow for temporary bipartisanship. I must say that as Warner is eighty years old, his icon status has a somwhat Kennedy Center Honors-esque "praise 'em now 'cause they're about to die" feel to it.

Some of you may be wondering what put Warner on the ballot. He was never particularly fat, nor did he ever lose any weight to speak of. What John Warner did do was far more unique. "The following Inside-the-Beltway" tale shows just how dedicated and cunning Warner is when it comes to weight loss.

Around 1980, John's then-wife, Elizabeth Taylor (yes, that Elizabeth Taylor), was trying to lose weight. Elizabeth was unsatisfied with the progress of her diet, as she had only lost fourteen pounds. While others might have been appeased by that amount, Elizabeth was savvy enough to realize that any number that left her above 105 was nothing to smile about.

With a pout on her face, Elizabeth accompanied her husband to a grocery store near their Georgetown home one afternoon. Soon after they entered, John handed his wife a turkey, and disappeared with the cart, employing his conservative powers of stealth. With the turkey still in her arms, Elizabeth ran around the store searching for her husban Elizabeth was in in hysterics, crying as she looked for her husband, struggling to carry the heavy bird.

After a few minutes of this the senator emerged from the maze of the supermarket, and found his wife in tears, still holding the turkey.

"How could you leave me with this turkey?" wailed Elizabeth. "It's so heavy!"

"Oh, really?" said Warner, with a knowing smile. "It's only fourteen pounds."

Then, realizing that the fourteen pounds she had lost was more than she had thought, Elizabeth smiled.

This story beautifully illustrates what makes John Warner such a role model. In tricking Elizabeth into carrying the turkey, not only did he calm his whiny wife, he also gave her a wonderful weight-training workout. While his gesture could have appeared selfless, it benefited him in a number of ways. Not only did it make his marriage more pleasant, it also slimmed his wife and saved him money on her clothing (most textiles are sold by the yard). Warner harnessed the duplicitousness that has kept him in the senate for 28 years, and used it in the even higher calling of weight loss. Warner's deed had a masterfully hidden agenda, like a piece of legislation that hides a pay raise for congressmen on the end of a bill banning Neo-Nazis from teaching in public schools.

Those of you thinking that Elizabeth could have done it on her own are mistaken. Once her marriage to Warner ended after six years (making it the longest of her seven marriages), Taylor's weight ballooned again. This regression shows just how instrumental Warner's coaching

For his mentorship and deceitfulness, I am proud to confer the award of Weight Loss Icon upon John Warner. His marriage to Elizabeth may not have lasted, but his legacy as a Weight Loss Icon is certain to last forever.

Weight Loss Icon: Nicole Richie

2007-07-30T23:19:00.000-07:00

I chose this week's Weight Loss Icon, primarily, in an effort to clear up some of the confusion caused by the always well-intentioned (if somewhat careless) paparazzi. There have been some horrible mistruths uttered with regard to this week's Icon, Nicole Richie. These lies are likely the result of envy, the second worst deadly sin (distantly trailing gluttony). Here is the truth about this truly iconic woman:

After having spent 5 seasons on The Simple Life with the far skinnier Paris Hilton(left), Nicole has shown that thinness can be contagious with prolonged exposure. She is no longer the fat girl in overalls, but rather the pleasantly skeletal girl who the press can't get enough of. All the manual labor she was forced to do by Fox on The Simple Life whipped her into shape, and she appreciated the diet so much that she decided to continue with it even after she and Paris refused to be in the same room.

Tabloid headlines had lauded Nicole for her new figure, saying things like "Nicole is a Skinny Bitch." Apparently even those who seemingly don't like her can't deny the fruits of her labor. Unfortunately, the lovefest with the media isn't lasting.

Photos of Nicole have recently popped up which show her wielding a fairly large belly. The media has misdiagnosed this as "pregnancy," a scathing label that suggests that the delightfully skinny Nicole is being forced to eat for two.

Since I know Nicole would never let that happen to her body, there is only one possible explanation for her recent inflation: kwashiorkor. This condition, which is most commonly associated with children in famine-ridden African countries, is the result of excessive dieting. Nicole's "pregnancy" is simply the result of being a little too much of a go-getter when it comes to dieting. It's merely an overexertion injury, like carpal tunnel or tennis elbow. The photographs may also merely be photoshopped, as I can't fathom that a person as in control of her physique as Nicole would ever drink non-diet soda.

Now that that silly misunderstanding has been cleared up, I hope that we can all go back to being awed by Nicole's beautiful transformation, instead of wondering who the father of her hollow stomach is.

Frequency Change

2007-07-29T23:17:00.000-07:00

As previously alluded to, my posting likely won't be as consistant in this go-round as it was previously. Days will be skipped, but hopefully not too many Weight Loss Icons or Diet Spotlights.

This week will be especially light, as most of my writing energies will be devoted to a blog I'm doing from the Legg Mason Tennis Classic, which you can find at my new site, Washington Tennis .

Once the tournament wraps up, I hope to increase the frequency at which I post on this frequency.

It isn't all bad for my dear readers. The tournament is played in incredibly hot and humid weather, so I'll be sweating quite a lot. There is also no reasonably priced food, so I won't be eating anything. Hopefully I'll be able to lob a few pounds off my frame.

The sweating has made a difference already. I weighed in at 185.4, which, while not below par, is certainly a step in the right direction.

Day 204: 185.4

Diet Spotlight: The Drinking Man's Diet

2007-07-26T19:54:00.000-07:00

"Did you ever hear of a diet which was fun to follow?

A diet which would let you have two martinis before lunch, and a thick steak generously spread with Sauce Béarnaise, so that you could make your sale in a relaxed atmosphere and go back to the office without worrying about having gained so much as an ounce?

A diet which allows you to take out your favorite girl for a dinner of squab and broccoli with hollandaise sauce and Chateau Lafitte, to be followed by an evening of rapture and champagne?"

So begins a wonderful pamphlet I stumbled upon not long ago, entitled "The Drinking Man's Diet." The diet is easily summarized as a restriction to no more than sixty grams of carbohydrates (or "carbos" as the pamphlet calls them) per day. As most non-malted alcoholic beverages contain little to no carbohydrates, alcohol is not restricted from the plan. Put another way, the Drinking Man's Diet is the Atkins Diet with a three-drink minimum.

The tiny pamphlet (only a dozen or so pages of text) was first published in 1964, and has sold over two million copies in thirteen languages. The author of The Drinking Man's Diet is Gardner Jameson, who, still quite the lush at age 90, is described as a "jaunty San Francisco bon vivant," which, more than likely, is a very prolonged way of saying that Mr. Jameson is gay as sin.

The suggestions Jameson makes in his pamphlet suggests that his intended reader spends nearly as much on food and drink as most people spend on their mortgages. As he puts it, "most of the things you like best don't have to be counted at all: steak and whisky, chicken and gin, ham, caviar, paté de fois gras, rum and roast pheasant, veal cutlets and vodka, frog's legs and lobster claws." Maybe it's me, but I don't find it particularly enticing for a diet to be bragging about allowing for the consumption of amphibians.

Despite my attitudes toward Kermit consumption, the diet was a huge success in the mid-Sixties. Comedian Allan Sherman even wrote a song about the diet, which included these lyrics:

With every Manhattan
Your stomach will flatten
If pounds you would burn off
Then turn on your Smirnoff.

The diet is clearly the saving grace of all those beer-bellied individuals who want to keep the booze but lo The pamphlet is adorned with blurbs of the previously blubbered, who have all drank the Kool-Aid for this diet, chasing it with their cocktail of choice. Geoff D. says that "the only drinks [he] missed are the ones [he] spilled." "Single working mom" loves that the diet allows her to keep chugging her "two 6:00 p.m. tension-breaking martinis."

A friend of mine (who I'll refer to as "Drunk Girl") has her own adaptation of the Drinking Man's Diet. Drunk Girl has a different way of incorporating alcohol into her weight loss regimen. At parties where she is consuming alcohol, Drunk Girl ducks into the bathroom to throw up. She isn't throwing up because of the alcohol--she is throwing up because of good ol'-fashioned bulimia. Alcohol is the perfect decoy for Drunk Girl's bulimia; instead of her peers thinking that she has an eating disorder, they think that she's just a girl who likes to have a good time. Instead of saying "[Drunk Girl] needs to get help for her problem," they say "We should invite [Drunk Girl] to our next party! And then she should get help for her problem." As the social acceptability of alcoholism far exceeds the social acceptability of bulimia, Drunk Girl's strategy is indisputably a brilliant one.

Some would say that, like the fine wines it espouses, the Drinking Man's Diet has gotten better with age in the forty-three years since it debuted. If you decide that you want to uncork this vintage method, bottoms up to you. Just please remember to find a designated fat person, as dieting and driving can be a serious offense.

The Remission Statement

2007-07-25T22:40:00.000-07:00

Hello again, beloved reader! After wandering in the desert for 100 days, I have returned, eager to share some of the wisdom I have gained during my hiatus. I have new icons to idolize, new diets to prescribe, and more of the same other stuff. There may even be a new feature or two. The sky’s the limit.

What is limited is time. I probably won’t be able to post with the same frequency as I did previously, which will make my work less plenteous, although less diluted. I am not entirely certain how exactly these cutbacks will materialize, although I’m fairly certain that days with special features (Monday—Weight Loss Icon; Thursday—Diet Spotlight) will no longer have daily logs, unless something super duper noteworthy happens.

Now that all the housekeeping notes are taken care of, you’re probably wondering “What did Benjamin do on his summer vacation?” The answers to that question are, sadly, not very interesting.

To make a short story shorter, I didn’t do a whole lot, especially when it came to my efforts to lose a Benjamin. Outside of the occasional game of croquet or ping-pong, I didn’t ever exercise to speak of. I didn’t watch what I ate, rather shoving whatever was placed before me down my gullet without a thought as to how much more blubberous each calorie was making me. I avoided weighing myself for fear of lowering morale.

Getting back on the scale today, I was saddened, but not surprised, to see a horribly porky weight of 187 glaring at me. In the time since my last official weigh-in 100 days ago, I’ve gained 5.5 pounds. Having been as low as 180, it’s a pity to see myself back under a Jackson in total lost pounds. It’s as if tapestry I had weaved with arachnid-like skill has disintegrated to threads (or at least 28% of the tapestry). I could blame someone else for this catastrophe (Sanjaya comes to mind immediately), but pointing the finger at another would leave three chubby little fingers pointing back at me.

But enough moping. I have to rededicate myself to losing this godforsaken Benjamin. This valley I’m in may make the mountain I have to climb even larger, but the larger the mountain, the more calories I’ll burn climbing it.

How will I do it? While I could try one of the suggestions I made so long ago, I’m going to rely on sheer willpower for a while. If I get into a thin mindset, I trust I will be able to get into thin clothing. Best of all, merely thinking about becoming thinner doesn’t require me to get out of this recliner. Which is awesome, because I’m pretty comfortable at the moment.

Day 200: 187

Benjamin On, Benjamin Off

2007-04-16T00:43:00.001-07:00

Today is the long-anticipated Benjaminth day of my endeavor. Whether or not this anniversary is something to be celebrated is debatable. I would have liked to have lost a Benjamin by now, but I suppose that weighing 181.5 on Day 100 is far better than weighing 205 on Day 1. I’m not trying to be glass-76.5%-full, rather glass-23.5%-empty, as a 100%-empty glass is my ultimate goal.

As this is as much of a red-letter day as I’m going to get anytime soon (Day 105 notwithstanding), I figure this is a good time to take a break. I will return in a Benjamin (Wednesday, July 25), to give my loyal readership more of the quality prose they have come to demand. The Daily Logs, the Weight Loss Icons, and the Diet Spotlights will be back, and there may even be some new stuff.

Without my postings to occupy its time, the world will certainly find other things to do. America will vote Sanjaya the winner of American Idol; Rosie O’Donnell will eat Elisabeth Hasselbeck; ESPN will spend 21 hours per day making erroneous NFL draft predictions and overhyping Brady Quinn; and, if we’re lucky, Paris Hilton will be given a life sentence for crimes against humanity.

See y’all in a Benjamin.

Day 100: 181.5

Weight Loss Icon: Missy Elliott

2007-04-16T00:42:00.001-07:00

This week I have the pleasure of awarding the title of “Weight Loss Icon” to Missy Elliott. Her weight loss accomplishments made her a unanimous choice to be inducted into the pantheon of weight loss greats.

Before her illustrious, industrious rap career had even began, Missy lost control. She gained exorbitant amounts of weight, relegating her to wearing velour sweatsuits on red carpets. She was to become the female Fat Joe or Big Pun of the rap industry, although less successful, as society has the good sense to use tough love against overweight women by encouraging them to fit acceptable body types before allowing them to become successful. If this system were used on men as well, we’d see a lot more thin men. Or, at the very least, more fat ones who were unsuccessful.

Thankfully, Missy “Misdemeanor” had the good sense to improve upon her felonious weight, improving her sales and critical acclaim in the process. Quicker than a one-minute man, Missy lost 70 pounds, using a diet that mandated several glasses of watah per day.

As she learned how to pass on that Dutch Apple Pie, Missy’s popularity was flipped and reversed. Folks gossiped about her new and very improved look, then bought her albums. NARAS soon followed suit, giving Missy Grammys.

Yet for all her weight loss, Missy never stopped wearing those velvety tracksuits. They still are a fixture of her wardrobe, often framing a loose t-shirt airbrushed with the image of the recently deceased, such as Aaliyah, Lisa “Left-Eye” Lopes, and perhaps even Gerald Ford. Her look was seen as “unique” enough to make her a spokesmodel for The Gap alongside Madonna, both of whom were chosen for the company for their “unique styles”. Because when someone wants to look different from everybody else, they go to The Gap.

Despite her questionable endorsements, Missy is clearly an exemplary representative of weight loss greatness. She is indubitably a heavyweight force in the dieting arenas, and for that she will go down in history.

Carrot No's

2007-04-15T00:14:00.000-07:00

As you may have gathered from my ambitious decision to lose 100 pounds, I am someone who is willing to take on a challenge. That’s why today, April 15th, I decided to take on something far more taxing than a W-2.

It was a bowl of grated carrots. While that mountain may seem like a molehill to many, I find carrots completely disgusting, almost the same way others feel about pickles. I decided to challenge myself with a bowlful of carrots, in an effort to rid myself of my disdain and to take advantage of the carrot’s reported negative calorie power.

So what’s so bad about carrots?

Eating too many of them turns people orange. I’ve never heard of any other food which has the ability to hijack a person’s body, which shows their scary potency. It would be sort of cool if other foods made people change colors, like Skittles or something, but with carrots it’s just creepy.
I once heard someone refer to carrots as “nature’s Cheetos,” and I don’t like Cheetos either. Cheetos get all over the eater's hands are 50% styrofoam
Carrots grow underground, likely in Hell. I don’t understand how it was decided that they should be eaten, given the lack of appeal subterranean foodstuffs have to me. I suppose I should be grateful that other erroneous designations of edibility haven’t been assigned to dinosaur remains or worms.
Carrots are a filler food. They are used in dishes in which they shouldn’t be included just because they’re cheap and colorful. This is especially irksome in more ethnic foods, such as Thai and Greek, because carrots are not a part of native Thai or Greek cuisine. I think my disdain for the carrot first escalated when it dominated this Greek Pita thing I used to order from Wendy’s, who I had previously held to a high standard of maintaining cultural authenticity with its ingredients.
They have a gross porousness that makes them sort of like a petrified watermelon, except not as sweet and not as fun to spit.
They grow surrounded by dirt, and are often insufficiently washed. It's said that humans eat pounds of dirt every year, and I'm sure most of that comes from carrots.
As a red-haired person (not all of my head is red so I don't say “redhead”), I find the term “carrot top” wholly dumb. While I don’t think my hair color dictates my personality as other red-haired people say, I do have to deal with people who consider it my only feature of note. I can’t tell you how many people upon meeting me have asked if they could call me “Red” or something, feel very clever, and then never call me “Red” again. Inasmuch, I resent the term “carrot top,” as I do not want to be associated with the disgusting vegetable. The term “carrot top” is also very misleading, as the tops of carrots are green.
Carrots are the only vegetable ever introduced into the dessert arena. I cannot stand when people try to pass off carrot cake as a dessert. When I went to birthday parties as a kid and was served carrot cake, I should have had the good sense to take back my gift and demand extra goody bags due to pain and suffering.

Masochistically, I finished the bowl of carrots, complaining all the while and likely annoying the Vitamin A out of my tablemates. It wasn’t worth it at all, as the carrot eating only yielded a net weight loss of a half-pound, putting me at 182. While I do want to lose weight and all, some things just aren’t worth it.

Day 99: 182

The Who, What, Where, When, Why, and How

2007-04-13T00:09:00.000-07:00

While becoming acquainted with this blogosphere over which I reign, I noticed a common trait of many blogs. They are topped by a header article or blurb which explains the purpose of the blog and the identity of its author to the reader. I thought I would do one of these too, as I pride myself on being nothing if not susceptible to peer pressure. There’s no better time for an introduction than ninety-seven days in, after all.

So here are the answers to some basic questions you may be wondering about this scripture known as “Losing a Benjamin.”

Who a Benjamin?
I, Ben, am the author of this zero-calorie chicken soup for the soul. I am a student at the University of Michigan from Washington, DC.

What a Benjamin?
A Benjamin equals 100. As Sean Combs/Sean John/Puff Daddy/Puffy/P. Diddy/Diddy could tell you, it is all about the Benjamins, baby.

Where a Benjamin?
The Benjamin is being lost wherever I roam. The losing of the Benjamin is tracked using one scale at a University of Michigan gym. All weights measurements taken on other scales are undermined with asterisks. There will be a new official scale some time around the beginning of May, when I go back home.

When a Benjamin?
The Benjamin started losing itself on January 7, 2007. This was denoted as “Day 1,” although some would argue that it should have been called “Day 0,” because on “Day 5” I had only been trying to lose a Benjamin for 4 days, and so on in n-1 fashion. This discrepancy reminds me of the contention over whether the new millennium started on January 1, 2000 or January 1, 2001, which was one of the more useless distinctions over which mankind has ever gotten worked up. I still remember that on January 1, 2001, a local news team in Washington covered a crowd of about six people commemorating the beginning of a new millennium outside the atomic clock display at the Naval Observatory. It looked like a shindig with all the raucousness of a PTA meeting, with an even higher proportion of math teachers. Today is “Day 97,” and I am sad to say that the end (105 poundage) is not in sight.

Why a Benjamin?
A Benjamin is a nice round number. 100 is also a wonderfully convenient number for converting things to percentages. A Benjamin pounds lower than my original weight of 205 was going to put me at 105, which seemed like a challenging, yet reachable goal.

How a Benjamin?
I have not yet come up with one solid method for losing weight. I’ve been ellipticalling frequently, which I do without shame even though it’s a girl machine. I’ve also been known to run at odd hours and to throw up.

That should answer any questions any of you may have. If any more linger, do not hesitate to comment or to send an email to losingabenjamin@yahoo.com . But since I’ve already covered the five W’s and the H, I can’t imagine that any uncertainty remains.

Today I (who) weighed in at 182.5 (what) on my usual scale (where) at around 10:30 PM (when). I did so because I weigh myself every day (why), and I stayed at 182.5 by not changing my weight any from yesterday’s identical amount (how).

Day 97: 182.5

The Soul of Wit

2007-04-12T23:31:00.000-07:00

I'm writing today to say that I won't be writing as much in the coming days. A lot of stuff will keeping me away from this wonderful log, such as exams and moving out. I will still try to check in every day. But I won't be saying a whole lot. (Tomorrow's entry will be longer, but I wrote most of it a while ago).

This shift will likely be a very good thing, as my entries have gotten very long. If I paid more attention to what I was writing, I'd know that less is certainly more, so hopefully this will be a good change. Flipping that old saying, I'll be writing short letters because I don't have time to write long ones. It just makes more sense that way.

The one drawback is that I won't be able to tie as many pictures into what I'm saying, so maybe I'll just start putting up random pictures. As a Terps Basketball fan, I'm partial to this one.

I weighed in today at 182.5, which is up 1.5 from Tuesday (bad), but is the same as Monday (so-so).

See how succinct I can be? It's almost scary.

Day 96: 182.5

Diet Spotlight: Okinawa Diet

2007-04-12T12:32:00.001-07:00

Coming up with a diet to spotlight week in and week out can be somewhat challenging. But thanks to my wonderful advertisers, I’ve been able to learn about dozens of diets that I never knew existed. One of these diets is the diet I'm spotlighting this week, the Okinawa Diet.

By just looking at the name of the Okinawa Diet, I could tell I was dealing with a quality product. Japanese people are, as previously mentioned, wonderfully thin. This is largely a function of the denseness of their population, which forces them to be small, and to miniaturize things via video games and ping pong.

The Okinawa Diet is also about density. It focuses on eating foods which are not dense in calories, as Okinawans reportedly average less than one calorie per gram of food. The diet prescribes that foods with a high density of calories per gram should be avoided. I’m sure that’s all well and good, but since I don’t do metric it means very little to me. I am losing a Benjamin pounds, after all, not 45.4 kilograms.

But I get the gist of caloric density—whole wheat is better than white bread, ice is better than ice cream, etc. And of course, nuts are completely off-limits. One of the things I’ve been most surprised to learn through this whole process is that nuts have like a billion calories per handful. It’s nuts.

Okinawa is an ideal place to name a diet after, as Okinawans have a propensity to live for over 100 years, even longer than the rest of the long-living Japanese. It is not entirely clear to me, however, what relation the diet has to the island. But it’s a cool name all the same. Okinawa, like many other Japanese place names, rolls off the tongue easily. On a vaguely related note, did you know that if you say “Tokyo” a lot of times very quickly, it becomes unclear whether you’re saying “Tokyo” or “Kyoto”? These are the kind of things one learns when one talks to oneself at length.

The Okinawa Diet, despite a name which led me to believe that it would use all sorts of Eastern concepts that would lose me, is really very straight forward. Best of all, it doesn’t require me to change too much of what I do. As I detailed when I wrote about what I eat, I am partial to Rice Krispy Treats. Since they are almost entirely air, I have to think that the light, fluffy Rice Krispy Treats are completely compatible with the Okinawa Diet. Any diet that is OK with the RKT is OK with me.

Trying the Okinawa diet may well burn more calories than it took to raise the flag on Iwo Jima. But no one will want to take any historic photos of your dieting until after you lose weight. Unless, of course, you want to be part of one of those wonderful Okinawa Diet advertisements you can find to the right.

Double-Wide to Heaven

2007-04-11T09:41:00.000-07:00

This entry is a tad morbid, but hey, it’s Wednesday.

As anyone old enough to read should know, everyone eventually dies. And when people die, their remains need to be taken care of in a manner that is both respectful yet does not unduly inconvenience the living. Since the Viking method of putting bodies on boats and lighting said boats ablaze has gone out of style, arrangements are usually restricted to land.

The dead of the fatter countries have recently inconvenienced the living more than they normally would, as they leave the world too fat to memorialize in traditional methods. Crematoriums in England are having to be expanded in order to complete the ashes to ashes transition of some of the larger Liverpudlians. And stateside, thousands of the deceased are unable to fit into regular coffins.

Enter Goliath Casket. Goliath Casket has been “serving the needs of the Oversized Casket Community for 20 years!” I don’t know who what or where this “Oversized Casket Community” is, but I would be wary of any bake sale they were having.

Irony abounds in a name like “Goliath Casket.” Naming a company after a legendary figure whose only accomplishment is getting defeated in battle by a far slighter foe is hardly setting a “can-do” tone for the brand. Perhaps the company was so named because Goliath is an ancestor of the founder, who feels the need to memorialize the first in a chain of overweight family members who were done in by skinny adversaries.

But it wasn’t always just fat people who were dying. There’s a sundial at my high school which rests atop a coffin-size stone box. On the sides of the box are carved the names and birth and death dates of about fifteen people. I was always impressed by how slight these deceased were that they could fit so many of them into one box.

As for myself, I’m not quite sure whether I’m closer to being buried in a container closer to the size of a shoebox or an Olympic swimming pool, due to the fact that I could not get to the scale today. But I do know that spending more time in an Olympic swimming pool would likely help me get into that shoebox someday. Funny how the larger-than-life could help make me drop-dead thin.

Day 95: ?

Double-O Heaven

2007-04-10T11:17:00.001-07:00

Around this time last year, pessimistic fat people around the country shook their heads in disbelief upon hearing the news: Banana Republic decided to go lower. Their impressively slight consumers needed something smaller than a "Size 0," as items that size were frequently in need of alterations to bring in the waist line. Aghast at the fact that shoppers the size of thimbles were having to use thimbles, Banana Republic unveiled "Size 00." Nicole Miller followed suit, announcing that it would have a new size called "subzero" starting in the fall of 2007.

Rather than having the appropriate reaction (jubilation), many larger members of society were overcome with envy. They claimed that the introduction of "Size 00" would encourage women to lose weight, and that "Size 00" would become a goal for dieters looking to reach a symbolic level of smallness.

I don't know why they think this is a bad thing. It's important for everyone to have goals to work towards. Mine is 105. Women who choose to strive for Size 00 should not be chastised, but rather should be lauded for being "goal-oriented," a nice hyphenated buzzword.

The waistline of the new Size 00 outfits is 23½", two inches smaller than Size 0's 25½'' waistline. Statistics show that the average American female has a 34½" waist, which means that she needs to lose weight or suck in enough to make her waist about 30% smaller. Put another way, the average American woman is about 47% fatter than Nicole Miller would like her to be. It's quite clear that Nicole is a woman with an eye for beauty.

Unfortunately, all these zeroes ring somewhat hollow. Out of pity for the fattening women of America, clothing manufacturers have been making each size bigger and bigger, meaning that a Size 10 today would have been a Size 16 or so years ago. This so-called "vanity sizing" is supposed to make women feel better about themselves, blissful in ignorance. It's like Jerry on Seinfeld sewing "32" labels into his Size 34 pants, only now it's the manufacturers doing the deceiving. Women are tricked into thinking that they are not getting fatter when they are still able to buy clothes of the same size that they were several pounds ago. But if those women were to dig a pair of bell-bottoms out of the bottom of their closets, they'd likely be unable to slide them past their thighs.

So when Roseanne said "I'm more sexy than Pamela Lee or whoever else they've got out in Hollywood these days. Marilyn Monroe was a Size 16--that says it all," she's mistaken, on several counts. Today Marilyn would top out at a Size 12 (while she was pregnant). And as wonderful as Roseanne's sitcom may have been, I don't think anyone would argue that she's any sexier than a stapler.

After today's weigh in, I would hope that someone would argue that I'm sexier than a stapler. I recovered nicely from yesterday's weight of 182.5, weighing in at 181. I'm a ways from "Size 00," but I'm happy to have it as an option for when I do eventually hit 105.

Day 94: 181

The Orange & The Black and Blue

2007-04-09T18:35:00.001-07:00

Because man cannot write on weight loss alone, I’ve discussed a very wide range of topics near and dear to my heart. From racquetball to I Love New York, from pierogies to Herbertha, I’ve discussed just about everything I care about. There has been one glaring exception, however—the Philadelphia Flyers. Since their season ended just this past Sunday, it seems an appropriate time to discuss them.

I was raised in a household which adored the Flyers. Despite living in DC, we would buy game plans for tickets in Philadelphia, driving up there to see games around ten times a year. The Flyers performed consistently well, making the playoffs every year since 1995. And while they never won it all, they always did well enough to get my hopes up.

The Flyers consistently bright prospects took a drubbing at the end of last season. Finishing in fifth place out of fifteen teams in the Eastern Conference, just one point away from winning their division, the Flyers made the playoffs for the eleventh consecutive season, and were seeded to play the Buffalo Sabres. Unfortunately, the series would not turn out to be a repeat of those fog-filled 1976 Stanley Cup Finals between the two teams that I’m sure you remember so well.

The thinner, quicker Sabres blew by the Flyers in a lopsided series that, while decided by the seemingly close margin of four games to two, included blowout Sabres victories by the scores of 8-2 and 7-1. During their decisive 7-1 loss in Game 6, I ceded control of the television to let my sister watch Gilmore Girls, which was barely easier to stomach.

The Flyers started the 2006-07 season as poorly as they had ended the previous season. The Flyers lost fourteen of their first seventeen games, including a 9-1 steamrolling by the Sabres. Buffalo sports teams clearly have some sort of inferiority complex they’re still working through ever since losing those four straight Super Bowls. The Flyers were practically out of the playoff chase by November. This lack of success was difficult for me to grapple with, although I was pleasantly distracted from it by Michigan's 11-0 start in football.

The Flyers fired their overweight coach (right), which appeared to be a sound decision—how could a fat man make his players thinner? But sadly, nothing changed. They finished the season a distant last in the league, finishing thirtieth out of thirty teams. They even lost all four of their games against the Washington Capitals, who they never lose to. The Flyers were simply too fat and slow to keep up with the skinnier, speedier players who thrive in the “new NHL,” which is far more strict with regards to obstruction penalties.

While I’m all for having thinness rewarded in sports, it hurt to see my beloved Flyers Darwined out of contention so brutally. Hopefully they will be able to find some thinner players with the excellent draft position their terrible season has earned them.

Their season did end on somewhat of a high note Sunday, as the Flyers managed to beat those pesky Sabres 4-3. While the Sabres had already clinched first place in the conference and had nothing to play for, winning is still better than losing.

Nothing is better than losing, however, when it comes to dieting. I need to remind myself of this basic fact, as I returned to the scale for the first time in several days weighing 2.5 pounds more than at my last weigh in, 182.5 pounds. Hopefully I’ll be able to be able to learn something about losing from the Flyers. If I don’t, hopefully they’ll be able to learn something about how not to lose from me.

Day 93: 182.5

Weight Loss Icon: David Blaine

2007-04-09T18:34:00.000-07:00

This week’s Weight Loss Icon, David Blaine, makes weight loss magic happen, in front of awed audiences of millions. Pulling off stunts that result in dropped jaws and dropped pounds, Blaine never fails to astound.

Blaine is a magician who has modeled his career after Harry Houdini’s, though he’s avoided the untimely death part of that arc thus far.

Blaine first gained notoriety as a street magician, approaching the unsuspecting and dazzling them with card tricks and other less conventional illusions. Like Mother Teresa he roamed the streets looking to lift the spirits of the bored and malaise with his brand of entertainment. Unlike Mother Teresa he dressed in a way that showed more of his thin frame, while Teresa hid herself under sheath upon sheath of fabric.

Left unfulfilled by amazing only a handful of people at a time, Blaine searched for a way to show off his powers to larger groups of people. Starting in 1999 Blaine began to specialize in very public feats of endurance, showing his ability to remain away from food for great lengths of time. Though a magician, Blaine rarely uses any sleight of hand while making himself slight. Almost all of his weight loss is done in plain sight, often in the most public settings imaginable. He was first” buried alive” in a glass coffin in a large construction pit in Manhattan, staying in the box for a week. He then remained in a closet of ice in Times Square for just over 2.5 days, shocking many and putting himself into shock as well. He then stood on top of a 105-foot pole for 34 hours, towering over Bryant Park in Manhattan.

Happy to have shown New Yorkers how not to eat for lengths of time, Blaine crossed the pond to show Brits how not to eat fish and chips or bangers and mash or whatever it is they eat over there. Blaine was suspended in a plexiglass box hanging over the River Thames for forty-four days, during which time he did not eat. Jealous Brits bent on breaking his noble fast threw fattening eggs at his cage, but Blaine remained unnourished. Blaine lost a reported fifty-four pounds during his stay in the box, an losing more than a pound per day on average. It’s certainly the most effective diet I’ve encountered thus far in my research.

Upon hearing that his efforts were insufficient in showing Americans how to lose weight, Blaine returned to the states. He planned an exhibition in which he would abstain from food while remaining underwater for a week, a demonstration targeted at Manhattanites who will soon have to learn to cope with living under water once global warming floods their island. Knowing that the glass sphere in which he would float would refract light in an unflattering manner, Blaine lost 50 pounds in preparation for the performance. Instead of admiring Blaine, the media focused on his failure to break a record for holding his breath. Blaine was only able to hold his breath for 7 minutes and 33 seconds, falling short of the record of 8 minutes and 58 seconds. That the only possible criticism anyone could pin on Blaine was his ability to hold his breath for 7 minutes and 33 seconds shows what an impressive figure he truly is.

Unsurprisingly, I am not the first person in need of weight loss to idolize Blaine. Cartman and his pudgy friends were converted to Blainetology, a religious movement which worshipped Blaine, during the fourth season of South Park. Unfortunately the faith only lasted for an episode, which was not enough time for even Blaine’s tremendous powers to make a significant dent in the fat population of South Park.

Blaine is certain to continue his magnificent quest to help the world lose weight by leading by example. He is certain to have more rabbits to pull out of his hat, and more pounds to pull out of his already small gut. For his desire to continue to display his weight loss wizardry even though he’s already lost more weight than many would from being sawed in half, Blaine is truly deserving of the title of Weight Loss Icon. I just wish I could make the pounds go away in a puff of smoke like he does.

La Tortura

2007-04-06T13:59:00.000-07:00

The end of Lent is fast approaching, so I thought I'd give my dear readership an update on how my attempt to stay vegetarian went. The update is: not very well. Even though I was able to successfully stay vegetarian through the entire month of September under no obligation, I barely had the discipline to make it through a week of VegLent, even with the vague religious obligation Lenten sacrifices entail. More vigilant readers may have noticed that I even wrote about eating chicken during Lent, but I doubt anyone was paying attention that closely. So I did nothing to end the suffering of animals or whatever, although I suspect that said suffering would have continued even if I had stayed true to VegLent.

The suffering of animals takes a back seat to the suffering of Jesus across the western world today, as it is Good Friday. Good Friday is undoubtedly one of the more ironically named holidays, right up there with that holiday that was designated to give workers a day off then called Labor Day. Even though I went to Episcopalian schools for most of my life, I never got Good Friday off, a pattern that has unsurprisingly continued at my current school, the University of Michigan.

Despite having heard all about it, crucifixion, Jesus's method of torture and execution, is not my favorite ancient form of torture. That honor goes to Chinese Water Torture, in which water is slowly dripped onto the forehead of the tortured, creating a dent slowly and more rapidly creating insanity.

Although it's not used as much now as it was in the past, I'm relatively certain that there are modern day applications for Chinese Water Torture. It's ability to dent tissue could be honed to remove love handles and other unwanted lumps at a relaxed pace. All the drippee would have to do would be lie on his side, pop in a DVD, and relax as the unsightly blubber is washed away.

The only other method of torture that I think would ameliorate my physique would be the rack. I suppose 180 would be a more acceptable weight if my height was more in the neighborhood of 7'6''.

Unfortunately, I don't see myself getting tortured any time soon--my itinerary doesn't include stops at Guantanamo Bay, or, for that matter, the dentist. I do see lesser torture near for my readers, however, as I will be unable to post any weights while I am in Sterling Heights. The next time I'll be posting here will the next Weight Loss Icon piece for Easter Monday. Only then will I be able to tell you whether or not my weight rose on the third day.

Day 90: ?

Underneath Your Clothes

2007-04-05T03:43:00.001-07:00

I anticipated that one of the few negative consequences of losing 100 pounds was going to be having to buy new clothes. I had assumed that, every decade or so of lost pounds, I would need new clothes as I became narrower than the collars of the clothes that once fit me. Having that happen was not something to which I was looking forward, but it would be an impressive milestone all the same.

For better or for worse, I haven't yet outshrunk any of my clothing. I have been able to fit into some things I couldn't fit into before (like size 34 pants), but everything that fit at 205 is still wearable at 180, except for a couple of belts which i needed to poke new holes in. My clothing is decidedly looser, but not to the point where it drapes off me like a bedsheet. If I ever wanted to, I could probably swivel my way out of some of my looser pants by imitating one of those dashboard hula dancers. It's not a big deal, but it's kind of cool, as hands-free disrobing was never an option at 205.

As I see it, there are two factors contributing to this one-size-fits-so-far phenomenon. The first factor is that the clothes are shrinking. The dryers in my dorm are of incredibly inconsistent power, oftentimes overdrying the clothing. The first time I did laundry at the University of Michigan, all of my clothes shrank significantly. It entirely possible that the reason all my clothes still fit is that they have shrunk on a congruent pace with my shrinking. If that is the case, it would be incredibly convenient. The phenomenon is likely to stop when I go home for the summer, as my dryer at home isn't nearly so aggressive in shrinking.

The other contributing factor is that that my clothing was entirely too small when I weighed 205 pounds. Looking back, it's fairly evident that I didn't dress in a manner becoming of my previous size, consistantly wearing clothing that was about a size too small. I wasn't as bad as those large women in tube tops on Maury, but I'm sure I wasn't fun to look at. Rather than adjusting my clothing to fit my size, I made the choice to adjust my size to fit my clothing.

I wasn't able to get to a scale today, as I'm getting ready to go to Sterling Heights for Easter / Losing a Benjamin research. It's my first business trip for this site, and I hope all of you are sufficiently excited to see what I bring back.

Day 89: ?

Diet Spotlight: Fen-Phen

2007-04-05T03:42:00.000-07:00

This week’s Diet Spotlight takes a look at an arena of weight loss that I have not mentioned very often—pharmaceuticals. The idea of ingesting something in order to lose weight is admittedly questionable, but there is promising evidence with regard to Fen-Phen, which worked so well that it was taken off the market, probably due to the fact that its potency would have made the billion-dollar weight loss industry obsolete.

I know what you’re thinking—no, Fen-Phen is not a panda. It’s a pharmaceutical cocktail made from two separate compounds, fenfluramine and phentermine. Fenfluramine was originally prescribed on its own as a weight loss supplement, but it wasn’t very popular due to the side effects of drowsiness and altered moods. It is not noted in medical research whether the drowsiness was exhaustion from receiving too many compliments, or whether the altered moods were spells of bliss, but it’s something that should be clarified.

In 1983, a University of Rochester pharmacologist published the idea that fenfluramine would lose its “negative” side effects if paired with phentermine, a stimulant. It took a while for this theory to spread, as the readership for University of Rochester publications is probably pretty small.

Once the pairing was publicized in several medical journals in the early 1990s, Fen-Phen was being prescribed to the obese even more than elastic waistlines. Fenfluramine and phentermine became the new “it” couple in pharmaceuticals. The one-two punch from the Fen-Phen was wonderfully potent, helping many. Unfortunately, the party was too good to last.

Studies of women taking the drug showed a high correlation between Fen-Phen and pulmonary hypertension, causing defects in the heart valves. Thirty percent of the Fen-Phen-popping women studied had abnormal echocardiograms, which is apparently not a good thing. In 1997, the FDA requested that the Fen-Phen components be removed from the market.

In the time since it was recalled, upwards of 50,000 cases have been filed against the manufacturers who produced Fen-Phen. Billions have been paid out to the complainants. While I’m not sure why these people are suing, I would guess that they are angry that this miracle drug is no longer available.

Fen-Phen is the first diet pill I can remember ever hearing of, about ten years ago. If I had been wise enough to get a prescription back then, I never would have come close to 205. Then again, had I been on Fen-Phen as a child, I may have never come close to age 20. It is worth noting that all the reports of cardiovascular side effects focused on women, so it’s entirely possible that men are immune from the damage. I’ll have to ponder these pros and cons for a while before passing judgment on the viability of Fen-Phen as an aide in the losing of a Benjamin.

If you’ve decided that Fen-Phen sounds like fun-fun, you may be disappointed to hear that it’s hard to come by these days. It can probably found on eBay, or perhaps even made from scratch. All a person needs to do to whip up a batch is mix one part C12H16F3N with one part C10H15N, and bake until golden brown. It’s sure to be a family recipe passed down through generations, so long as those generations are able to reproduce before their hearts poop out.

Hips Don't Lie

2007-04-04T00:03:00.000-07:00

While sliding my trusty baseball belt through my belt loops this morning, I felt something. It was a hard lump in my left side, at about the same latitude as my navel. I immediately flashed back to that time I thought I had a tumor but it turned out to be gas, but I couldn’t imagine that a gas bubble would feel that rigid.

Then, doubling my anxiety, I felt another lump on my right side. I briefly worried that I had some sort of Twix variety of cancer, but then realized that the symmetry was reassuring. These lumps had to be my hip bones, protruding jauntily as a result of the 20+ pounds I’ve lost thus far.

Once my lumps were confirmed as part of my normal anatomy, I got very excited. Rediscovering my hip bones was an archaeological find on par with the Rosetta Stone. I tried to see if my new hips could do anything cool, so I tried to hang my keys off of them, but they fell right off. Hopefully I’ll be able to use them for something functional like that a few lost pounds from now.

I started to wonder about other body parts that might become visible as I lose more and more of this Benjamin. Vertebrae, femurs, kidneys—everything is fair game. Maybe someday I’ll eventually have enough visible internal organs to be used in biology classrooms!

I moved closer to the front of the class today, weighing in at 180 again, which marks a return to my previous low weight. There’s no fighting the fact that the signs of my body are saying that this is perfection. Well, 75 pounds from perfection. But it’s a start.

Day 88: 180

Objection (Tango)

2007-04-03T02:10:00.000-07:00

The finale of I Love New York aired last night, marking the culmination of New York’s search to find a man who wouldn’t leave her heart so...clocked. In the end, New York (center) chose Tango (left) over Chance (right). The choice was utterly baffling, if for no other reason than that Chance is significantly thinner than Tango, and New York had previously exhibited a deep attraction to thin men such as Flavor Flav, one of her more understandable tendencies. Tango was moody, emotional, and, worst of all, outweighs Chance by about a hundred pounds.

While she may have chosen incorrectly, I’m pretty certain that her very debatable decision will correct itself quickly, before anyone has the chance to object at their wedding. More than likely, Tango will watch Flavor of Love and realize that New York has a tendency to put on weight. I don’t know how he could ever stay with her after seeing that damning evidence.

Thanks to VH1’s tendency to rely almost entirely on spinoffs, it’s highly unlikely that we’re seeing the last of any of these people. After all, I Love New York was a spinoff of Flavor of Love 2, which was a spinoff of Flavor of Love, which was a spinoff of Strange Love, which was a spinoff of The Surreal Life 3. It's enough spinning to make just about anyone dizzy.

Aside from the obvious I Love New York 2, there will certainly be a bevy of other shows starring several of those men who came into the public eye while vying for New York’s love. These include:

One to Tango – Tango wallows in melancholy after leaving New York. While he knows he is better off without the expanding woman by his side, he still feels a tinge of loneliness every time he tastes her beloved ranch dressing, or notices just how big Aretha Franklin has gotten over the years.
Second Chance – Chance returns to woo twenty women in a mansion. As Chance is quite thin, the applicant pool is certain to be deep. Women wanting a "soldier" from across the country will flock to Chance's side, and plenty of baby-mama-drama is certain to follow.
Boston Tea Party – Twenty girls fight for the affections of Mr. Boston. Although the premise may sound familiar, Boston Tea Party differs from Second Chance in one major way. Since VH1 was impressed with Mr. Boston’s interactions with children, the twenty girls on the Boston Tea Party are orphans, each looking to be adopted. Angelina Jolie will play the role of Chamo in this series.
One Flew Over the Pootie’s Nest – After his nervous breakdown, a camera crew follows Pootie during his psychiatric care. Pootie will only sign on to the project because of VH1’s guarantee to flip the bill, as he is broke. Ratings won’t be great, but critics are certain to laud this Kubrick-esque glimpse into the mind of a man losing his mind.

Spinoffs have been on my mind since my fake announcement of the cancellation of my blog. I thought about the different possibilities as to what projects could mushroom off of Losing a Benjamin. The only thing I could think of is Gaining a Benjamin, in which I reverse courses and set my sights on the far easier goal of 280. It would be very hard to keep such a tragic story light, so I nipped that idea in the bud.

Whether I nipped anything else from my bud (wherever that is) or anywhere else today, I do not know, as I didn’t get to a scale today. Hopefully the weekend’s losses will rerun again and again, not only daily, but in the occasional marathon. I just hope my pounds can avert any sort of reunion.

Day 87: ?

Weight Loss Icon: Katharine McPhee

2007-04-02T00:26:00.002-07:00

People go on reality television shows such as Temptation Island, I Love New York (which concludes tonight), and Big Brother for one reason alone—fame. And when this fame dissapates, these publicity whores do whatever they can to stay in the public spotlight. Many pose for Playboy, become local news correspondents in markets like Cedar Rapids, or host entertainment shows that last for three episodes on cable channels no one has ever heard of.

This week’s Weight Loss Icon, American Idol: Season 5 runner-up Katharine McPhee, longed for a better fate. As soon as Katharine sensed her was fading from view (about a month after the American Idol finale), she decided to start a veritable publicity binge on the topic of her struggles with bulimia.

Katharine’s tale, which she sobbed to People, Access Hollywood, and Entertainment Tonight, was incredibly boastful. After “making it to Hollywood” but before going to "Hollywood," the Los Angeles native decided to enter rehab in order to get over her bulimic tendencies. She claimed to have been throwing up seven times every day,

Although changing a methodology that helped her get through the first rounds of auditions may seem foolhardy, Katharine knew what she was doing. Somehow, while abating herself of a tried-and-true weight loss method in bulimia, Katharine managed to lose thirty pounds. It was a truly incredible feat that must have made Katharine feel unbeatable. And she would have remained unbeaten if American Idol hadn’t allowed some fifty-year old to compete.

Before Katharine shared the reasons for her success, many were perplexed by her successful run on American Idol. They criticized her stage presence, saying she was awkward and clumsy. The only time I ever watched her on Idol, she was singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” while flopping all over the stage. With the revelation of her bulimia treatment and subsequent weight loss (I cannot get over what an impressive combination that is), Katharine’s odd behavior on stage makes more sense. She was uncertain what to do on stage, not yet used to her slimmer physique. So she crouched on the floor, trying to recreate her moments of glory hunched over a toilet. Sadly, her deeply personal interpretive dancing did not get the accolades it deserved.

Katharine did receive praise, however, for her “courageous decision” to seek treatment for her bulimia. This bodes well for me, because if a decision to lose thirty pounds is “courageous,” my decision to lose 100 will likely win me a Congressional Medal of Honor or something.

Even though she already has enough support to have carried her to second place, Katharine’s fanbase is certain to grow as more and more people find out about her weight loss. The millions of bulimics said to live in America today are certain to flock to her as someone who has discovered weight loss that goes above and beyond simple purging. Katharine now flaunts her thinness aggressively, going as far as to wear traditionally inadvisable horizontal stripes on the cover of her debut album.

Katharine says she loves being a role model, and now she finally has won an honor that justifies that title. Girls can have their McDreamy--this Weight Loss Icon incredible achievements have given me a McPheever that’s sure to push my temperature all the way to 105.

UPDATED TO ADD: On April 27, Katharine was named one of People's “100 Most Beautiful People” for 2007. It should be noted that even though she was more in the public eye in 2006, she was not put on the list until this year, after she told everyone that she lost weight. She was featured in a section on celebrities who look good sans makeup, which clearly reflects a smart choice by the editorial staff to keep Katharine’s face looking as unweighted as possible. In the insightful blurb accompanying her picture, Katharine bubbles: “I really like getting compliments.” Katharine is clearly expressing her thanks for this Weight Loss Icon distinction, and so I am happy to let her know that she is very welcome.

Fool

2007-04-02T00:26:00.001-07:00

I bring you today’s daily log in advance of this week’s Weight Loss Icon to iterate that I, dear reader, am not done with Losing a Benjamin, nor am I converting to Barney’s quasi-Jurassic cult of specialness. Since Barney’s message of ubiquitous specialness was directed at the multiethnic throng of children gathered around him, it’s became clear to me that being special is contingent on weighing less than 105 pounds or less, as all those children do. Children’s programming on PBS is a lot more subliminal than one would think, requiring more reading between the lines than the medium would suggest. In that sense it’s a lot like a Jayson Blair article.

But for all the bad press he got (and wrote), Blair was never the only New York Times writer with tricks up his sleeve. The New York Times writes many of their obituaries far in advance, often at the first hint that the person might die soon. It’s undeniably lazy, although extremely pragmatic. These obits are often shelved for years, as some of the deceased, like Strom Thurmond, Barbaro and Anna Nicole Smith, lived longer than anyone could have ever anticipated. Knowing this, public figures who suspect they may not be long for this world occasionally contact The New York Times in the hopes of reading their own obituaries. Their wishes are not granted—then they die.

Since my last entry went up, I got a taste of what these moribund people wanted. The eulogies my blog received were all very sweet, and appreciated, if misguided. I understand why those who did not read the entry on April 1 did not immediately grasp that it was written for April Fool’s Day, although there were some things that could have clued my readership to my intentions. For starters, I don’t think I would ever have my final entry feature Barney. Just about the only true sentiment in the entry was the attempt to watch The Lawrence Welk Show. What can I say? The Welk is timeless.

While some may consider my deed devious and deceitful, I would contend that it doesn’t hold a candle to another April Fool’s Day hoax, the “Taco Bell Liberty Bell.” On April 1, 1996, Taco Bell took out a full page ad in the aforementioned New York Times, stating that they had purchased the naming rights to the Liberty Bell. When it was revealed that it was a hoax, Americans were outraged. I understand their furor, as I too would be crestfallen if my dreams of pairing American History with chicken quesadillas with extra creamy jalapeño sauce were crushed.

Even if yesterday’s sentiments had been true, I likely would have had a change of heart once I reached the scale. I weighed in yesterday at a new official low of 180, which was followed today by a respectable (although chunkier) 181. There clearly is a correlation between lying and losing weight, a causality I should keep in mind during the rest of this endeavor.

Day 85: 180

Day 86: 181

No Más

2007-04-01T19:04:00.000-07:00

I was channel surfing today, and I couldn’t find anything to watch. There was nothing on my core of go-to channels (the ESPNs, Food Network, VH1), so I decided to try the local PBS affiliate in the hopes that The Lawrence Welk Show was on. It wasn’t, but Barney was. Mesmerized by the notion that a heavy-set dinosaur was still being marketed to children, I continued to watch Barney for another ten minutes or so, until my eyes glazed over.

Just as I was about to regain consciousness, I heard the familiar lilt of a Barney song I had heard one-too-many times in my childhood. And while I already knew most of the words, I felt as though I was hearing the words for the very first time. When Barney and that multiethnic throng of children sang, their words struck a chord deep within my gut.

You’re remarkable; you really are.
You’re the only one like you,
There isn’t another in the whole wide world
Who can do the things you do
Because you are special—special!
Everyone is special.
Everyone in his or her own way
Yes you’re special—special!
Everyone is special!
Everyone in his or her own way!

I couldn’t shake the notion that maybe, despite his ridiculous appearance and annoying usage of politically correct gender pronouns, Barney was making a lot of sense. I am special, in my own way. I have things about me that no one else has. No one else has my fingerprints (I’ve been told), my social security number (105-10-5105), and no one else has this domain name (http://www.losingabenjamin.com). And with the exception of the domain name, I had all those things before a single unit of this Benjamin was lost.

So maybe I don’t need to lose any more weight. Maybe I never needed to lose any. Maybe I’ve been misguided all along, following false prophets and means to a meaningless end. I have qualities that would shine through even the thickest layer of fatty tissue, qualities that would reaffirm my specialness at any weight. It’s a beautiful thing, and I am beautiful too, no matter what they say.

Thanks to Barney, I now know that I don’t need to change one bit. As long as they make clothing my size, I’ll never have to worry.

I guess this marks the end of Losing a Benjamin. It’s been fun, although time consuming. I can now use that time to reflect on my beauty. I won’t need a mirror—it’s all on the inside.

Day 85: I am so much more than a number.

Putting It Off

2007-03-30T18:33:00.001-07:00

Last night I took my second of three statistics exams. I don’t think I did particularly well, but it may not matter. My grade in the class will be calculated one of two ways: either the first exam will count for 20%, the second exam will count for 20%, and the final will count for 40%, or first two exams won’t factor in and the final will count for 80%.

While I should find some comfort in the fact that my poor grade on the second exam might not hurt me, the idea of taking an exam worth 80% of my grade is pretty frightening. That being said, I did use the possible non-factoring of my grade as justification for some pre-exam procrastination, in effect dooming myself to a final worth 80%. Putting it off didn't seem as off-putting as it should have.

Putting things off, saving work for a later date, etc. is as American as the apple pie I’ll probably make someday. Spinning one’s wheels is incredibly convenient, although perhaps imprudent.

This is especially true when it comes to weight loss. Many always plan to diet in the near future, pledging to start tomorrow, next week, or as soon as they finish their Krispy Kreme. These delays are incredibly injurious and pointless. No one should ever come to the conclusion that it is best that they stay fat a while longer.

Luckily for me, I failed to reach that conclusion on January 7th, 2007, a date that I’m sure will go down in history, just like November 5, 1955. If I hadn’t decided to start losing 100 pounds right there and then, who knows if I ever would have? I might still weigh 205, or (gasp) even more.

As glorious important a day as 1/7/7 was, it’s legacy is not enough, as I am yet to even reach 177. I need to rededicate myself to the cause again, to dive headfirst into my slenderization. I’ll go to the gym three times a day, go running at dawn, and limit my eating to 400 calories a day. With that kind of routine, I’m sure the plateau will be fall off into lean oblivion.

I think I’ll start do that all that stuff next week. I’ve got a box of Trefoils to polish off first.

As predicted, no weight today.

Day 83: ?

The Quickest Way to a Man's Heart

2007-03-29T01:08:00.003-07:00

I was watching Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom this morning, and I was struck by the uselessness of the advice given by one character to another. The villain, Mola Ram, was battling some guy while they both dangled from a bridge. Mola is about to use his patented move, which involves thrusting his hand into his enemy’s chest and pulling out his heart, so the young sidekick, “Short Round” (right), tells the soon-to-be heartless man to “cover his heart.” But before he has a chance to do anything, his heart is in Mola’s fist. It's very Little Jack Horner.

I, for one, can’t imagine that covering his heart would have done any good. If Mola can plunge through a sternum, I imagine he can move aside a hand. It’s the kind of terrible advice that only a naïve child sidekick could give. Way to go, “Short Round.” Of course, Indiana Jones manages to fend off the attempted cardiectomy, and sends Mola plummeting to his death.

Naturally, I started wondering about how I could apply what I just saw to my quest to lose a Benjamin. I wondered if Mola’s tissue-snatching technique could be used for good, by honing in on love handles and belly fat instead of vital organs. If such a service were available, I’m sure it would be popular. This untraditional liposuction would combine eastern medicine with brute force in a way that would have both tree huggers and lumberjacks getting in line. A quick search on Craig’s List yielded no results, but I’m sure I’ll find what I’m looking for eventually.

No weigh-in today, and likely (SPOILER ALERT) none tomorrow either, as my sister is in town, which will occupy my time with something other than the scale. If I manage to be a few pounds lower by the next time my weight isn’t a question mark, it would be heartwarming to say the least.

Day 82: ?

Diet Spotlight: Raw

2007-03-29T01:08:00.001-07:00

For this week’s Diet Spotlight, I have to use a cool, fluorescent bulb. While I’ve roasted previous diets under an unforgiving heat lamp, if you will, I have to keep this diet at or below room temperature at all times. The diet is, of course, the raw diet.

A diet of raw food (called “raw foodism” by those wishing to elevate the practice to religious status) is perhaps one of the simplest diets to follow. No food can be heated at any point in its preparation. That’s the only rule.

I know I said previously that people who choose to follow a diet of raw food scare me. I admit--they still do. But faced with an even scarier plateau, I have to be willing to explore options I previously dismissed.

There are many things about a diet of raw foods which could make you warm to it:

Nothing is ever overdone, nor is anything ever undercooked. Tongues are never burnt, and precious minutes fanning off steaming food are not wasted.
The question “how would you like that?” is completely removed from the ordering process. This should be seen as an enormous gain, as deciding between medium and medium-well is a total shot in the dark, as the meaning of those assigned values vary greatly between restaurants. A simple request of “tartare” should suffice, although some waiters may mistakenly bring you the homophonic fish condiment.
A diet of raw food may impress others. Seeing someone tear into a raw steak can only inspire wonder and awe. Eating raw food can also come across as incredibly masculine and brave. If Chuck Norris had a diet, this would be it.
Food preparation never requires preheating, or, for that matter, a timer. Except for foods intended to be served chilled, items on a raw menu can sit at room temperature for days.
In converting to the raw food diets, precious counter-space is regained. All stoves, ovens, microwaves, toasters, toaster ovens, crock pots, popcorn makers, oven mitts, vent fans, hot plates, cookie sheets, skillets, George Foreman Grills, and Bunsen burners can be sold at your next yard sale.
Eating raw foods keeps many nutritional elements in the foods that are lost in cooking. The enzymes in raw food may help with weight loss in a way that cooked foods cannot.
Boasting of a raw food diet is certain to silence those other boastful hippies in your commune, as the raw diet is arguably the earthiest.
While Italian-Americans who go to Pizza Hut to eat the cuisine of their forebears may be misguided, a diet of raw food is guaranteed to tap into everyone’s ancestry. Up until humans figured out how to manipulate fire however many years ago, raw was all there was. It is unlikely, however, that your great-great-great-great-etc. grandmother left behind any recipes.
A raw diet is economical. Aside from rendering unnecessary the previously mentioned implements, not cooking will greatly cut down on the electric and (for some) gas bills.
When a raw dieter complains that his food is too hot, it is immediately evident that he means it is too spicy. Going raw averts all that annoying fahrenheit/scoville ambiguity surrounding the word “hot.”
There are no barbeques to get postponed due to rain. Everything involved in raw food preparation can be done in the great indoors.
The raw diet can mesh nicely with many other diets. Many negative calorie options can be eaten raw, as well as grapefruit and everything on the Survivor diet before the tribe gets flint.
Eating raw is a good way to “go green,” as they say. Not heating food helps cut down on global warming, and not using a microwave could reduce radiation, or something.
Eating colder food may actually burn calories. Scientists have calculated that drinking eight glasses of ice-water a day burns seventy calories through warming the liquid to body temperature, so it’s possible that colder foods may do some of the same.

While these benefits may seem enticing, the diet may turn out to be a raw deal (too easy, I know).

A lot of raw foods are…not traditionally appetizing. Digging into a raw chicken breast would likely test the stomach of just about anyone. Even more conventional raw dishes, like steak tartare (right), are pretty gross looking.
A lot of raw foods may be unsafe. The menus of restaurants serving raw foods that are traditionally cooked are spangled with asterisks. It may be advisable to wait to try a raw food diet until vaccines for salmonella and E. coli are created. Until then, unpasteurized ice cream and the like are entirely caveat emptor.
A lot of foods just don’t happen in raw form. For example, eating a raw cupcake would be nearly impossible.
The food many might associate with the diet first is sushi. And sushi is terrible. In traditional sushi rolls, seaweed is incredibly salty, and the fish is barely detectable. The only reason most Americans eat sushi is to show off in a sort of “Look at me! I’m eating raw fish and being Asia-friendly!” Fortunately, most sushi dishes are not allowed by the diet, as any rice in the sushi would have to be uncooked. Though I will concede that the pickled ginger stuff is pretty good on its own.
A raw dieter can’t order a fajita, and therefore cannot have the experience of having other restaurant patrons stare enviously as the smoking, sizzling skillet is delivered to the table. On the plus side, a raw dieter never has to worry about running out of tortillas while there is still a lot of fajita filler remaining.
Coffee can’t be done raw, nor can tea or hot cocoa. If the raw dieter is shivering in the bleak of winter, there’s no way to solve that problem with a beverage.
Finding a verb for what you do to get ready to eat may be tricky. It’s not “cooking,” but rather “arranging” or “mixing” or “plating” or something.
Many will be reluctant to invite a raw dieter to dinner parties and the like. Making special arrangements for a disciple of the practice is tedious, and unless the raw foodist is exceptionally charismatic and entertaining, it won’t be worth the trouble to have him.
Some of the research advocating raw dieting may turn people off to the idea. One “advantage” of the diet is said to be that the raw foods contain bacteria which will populate your digestive tract with “beneficial flora.” Ew.

If you’re still undecided about going raw, there’s plenty more you can find about it on Google. Just make sure SafeSearch is on.

Plateauing with Plato

2007-03-28T15:00:00.001-07:00

Take a deep breath, go use the bathroom, or make a sandwich now, before you attempt to read this entry. I am pretty certain it is the longest so far. I’m all about giving my readers more bang for their buck. If you like the bang, and want to give some bucks, please know that donations are accepted.

I’ll start this entry by giving away what usually is the ending. I weighed in at 183, an increase of a half-pound more than yesterday. Looking over my recent weights, it was pretty clear that I have encountered what most topographers would agree is a plateau. My weight has remained between 182 and 189 pounds for the last forty-four days. It hasn’t been fun, and may even eventually cause some sort of crisis of faith in not only myself, but all those who considered my losing of a Benjamin a sure thing, which would certainly be achieved within months.

Faced with these problems, I decided to look at words of wisdom from the past and present. I figured that a good choice to help me wax philosophical about my plateau would be Plato. His name is only a few vowels away from “plateau,” a fact which no other philosopher can boast. So I looked at some of Plato's words, and tried to look at how they applied to my own leveling off. I thought about making this a series to keep doing while I dwell in the 180s, but I feel like that might be far too comfortable of me. So here goes, all in one shot:

Plato said: “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
Ben says: Perhaps I was snide in previously dismissing those more rotund than I. These people may merely be on their way to 105, encountering some plateau that may exist for them in some other decade of poundage, be it the 180s, the 270s, or the 510s. I am not willing to absolve these people of their deadly sin of gluttony, but I will begrudgingly accept that those people who I see never get any thinner are merely plateauing. I would also think that this maxim could help shut up any doubters that may think that I am permanently stalled in the 180s, with no hopes of ever seeing the light of 105 pounds.

Plato said: “Death is not the worst that can happen to a man.”
Ben says: This may be the most obvious example of Plato addressing weight gain or failure to lose weight. I cannot think of anything worse than having 105 be even farther out of reach than it already is. Mere plateauing is already an annoying nuisance, and it could be considered breaking even by an optimist. Further weight gain, would be not only life-threatening (according to medical research and such) but also terrible for morale. With failure to lose weight comes failure to get promotions, failure to keep friendships, and failure to do just about anything else, not the least of which is a complete failure to win beauty pageants. Not that I was going to enter Mr. Universe any time soon, but it would be nice to have the option open.

Plato said: “Ignorance, the root and the stem of every evil.”
Ben says: That’s a sentence fragment, Plato. Grammar policing aside, it’s probably true that my plateauing is somehow the result of ignorance. Perhaps I am ignorant of the correct diet to be following; perhaps it is one I have yet to spotlight, or one which I haven’t even heard of. Or perhaps “[i]gnorance” should have been translated as “ignoring.” The real root of my problems may be the fact that people have been ignoring my lack of progress. Politesse dictates that friends, even strangers, are not to comment to an inflating acquaintance on the subject of his growing problem. Snide remarks to one another behind his back are, naturally, more accepted. But maybe if my lack of progress were not so ignored, if I were more chastised with criticism euphemistically called “tough love,” maybe I would already be in the neighborhood of 140 or so.

Plato said: “Never discourage anyone...who continually makes progress, no matter how slow.”
Ben says: This is true, to a point. But I have passed that point. Any patience with my lack of progress should have expired by now. There’s a statute of limitations on encouraging remarks that was passed several weigh-ins ago.

Plato said: “They certainly give very strange names to diseases.”
Ben says: They do. I don’t know who names diseases, but it seems like it should be done by committee or something, to ensure appropriateness. For example, I have no idea why chicken pox is called chicken pox, as I don’t know of any relation it has to chicken. Even Wikipedia can’t come up with any explanations of the nomenclature that I would deem satisfactory. “Diseases” associated with weight loss are more accurately named, as “morbid obesity” conveys it’s meaning rather nicely. I will concede that my diagnosis of “plateau” is a little evasive. It should be called something more like “passive failure.” I am looking to be in the red, and zero is not in the red. Therefore, I have failed.

Plato said: “We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.”
Ben says: Children and dark—whatever. The important part of this quote comes after the semicolon. Being afraid of being light is a real affliction. Those who gain weight are perhaps afraid of failing in their attempt to be light, afraid that their best effort at weight loss will fall short, and they will have to deem being an acceptable size impossible. The quote also may be addressing a gender disparity, saying that men are more afraid of being light than are women. Hopefully I have been able to put to rest some of these fears men may have through the spotlighting of four male Weight Loss Icons. I hope my plateauing isn’t the result of some sort of fear. I’d much rather have the problem be physical than psychological. I’m pretty sure it is physical—weight loss is simply a matter of nutrition and activity, neither of which are particularly psychological.

Plato said: “You are young, my son, and, as the years go by, time will change and even reverse many of your present opinions. Refrain therefore awhile from setting yourself up as a judge of the highest matters.”
Ben says: I hate when old people are condescending. And being a philosopher of antiquity, Plato is about as old as they come. So shut up, Plato. My opinions aren’t going to change. When I’m ninety-four I’ll still consider 105 to be an ideal weight, and a weight any higher will be unacceptable. I am willing, however, to reconsider the means to that end. Any path that takes me to 105dom, or at the very least off this plateau, is worth looking into.

Plato said: “Bodily exercise, when compulsory, does no harm to the body.”
Ben says: Amen to that. Perhaps I need to redouble my exercising. A few hill workouts should break up the plateau effectively. Too bad there are no hills to speak of in Ann Arbor. I have to find a way to make a decline in a flatland. I best find a shovel or something.

Plato said: “Everything that deceives may be said to enchant.”
Ben says: This is a notion I’ve already addressed, as I’ve written about deception previously (and took some lovely snapshots). But in the context of plateauing, deception may be somewhat more disguised than a sucked-in gut. Deceptions during my plateau have come in the form of dips in my weight. I get all excited about weighing less than I did the day before, yet gain back the weight the next day. These small declines in my weight, while indisputably better than a gain of any size, are fleeting, and perhaps should be treated as small pictures in a photomosaic, in which the content of the smaller image is almost entirely irrelevant to the appearance of the whole picture. But if I ever did take things in perspective, I wouldn’t have very much to write about.

Plato said: “Necessity is the mother of invention.”
Ben says: In this time of need, Plato advises me to find some sort of invention, or perhaps to make one up. Since I’m not an engineer, I’ll have to rely on some sort of pre-existing invention to get me off this plateau. With options such as the Bowflex and the Ab Lounge on the market, I’m sure I’ll find something. (At some later date I’ll go into such contraptions in more detail.)

Plato said: “The beginning is the most important part of the work.”
Ben says: This adage may be the ideal articulation of why I’m not doing worse than I am. I started on a downward slope, getting some progress under my belt right away (pun very intended). If I had had a plateau at the beginning, my prospects would have seemed far bleaker. I would still wallowing in the 200s, collecting lint or whatever it was I did back then. But now that I have some credentials on my weight loss résumé, it might be alright to rest on my laurels temporarily.

Plato said: “Attention to health is life's greatest hindrance…It would be madness to settle on medical treatment for the body of a person by taking an opinion poll of the neighbors.”
Ben says: Word, Plato. Too many times, after telling friends about my attempt to lose a hundred pounds, I’ve been lambasted with pleas for my health and well-being. “You’ll be dead,” they say, forgetfully leaving the word “sexy” off the end of that sentence. These people get swept up in health concerns, and overlook just how attractive I would be at 105 pounds. If these people see my plateau as some sort of decision to cut my losses and remain contented in the 180s, they are mistaken.

Plato said: “As empty vessels make the loudest sound, so they that have least with are the greatest babblers.”
Ben says: The emptier my vessel is, the more loudly and clearly my words will resonate. This plateau is perhaps dampening my voice, and if I hollow my instrument more fully, perhaps people will pay more attention.

Plato said: “Honesty is for the most part, less profitable than dishonesty.”
Ben says: Some may wonder if I have been lying about my weights. Perhaps there was some room for skepticism before, when the numbers were falling, but hopefully all doubts have been put to rest by my stagnation. If I were interested in impressing people with every weigh in, the numbers I post never would have shown any stalling. But they did, and I am sure my popularity has subsequently faltered.

And, lastly:

Plato said: “If one has made a mistake, and fails to correct it, one has made a greater mistake.”
Ben says: The most important buzzword for me to get out of this plateau will be “resilience.” I cannot allow myself to be content with middling, to settle for anything less than perfection. If I continue to find ways to improve, through new diets, new role models, or whatever else, I will avoid the greater mistake. A failure to reach 105dom would not only crush my own spirits, but those of people around the world, who, whether they know it or not, are pulling for me. And I will not let them down.

Day 81: 183

What I Eat

2007-03-27T01:56:00.000-07:00

For the most part, I’ve avoided talking about what I’ve been eating during my quest to lose a Benjamin. It never struck me as being particularly noteworthy or interesting. I could have written precise calorie counts for each day, talking about how much riboflavin was in my diet, but that would be extremely tedious and boring. I have gotten questions about what I’ve been eating, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to discuss what I have been eating during the losing of these first twenty-one pounds.

There are two staples of my diet: carbonated water, and “Same Ol’ Salad.” The carbonated water is from the little lever that says “SODA” (not “POP,” Midwesterners) in the soda fountain. It’s light, crisp, delicious, and calorie-free. The “Same Ol’ Salad” is a concoction which I have eaten nearly every lunch and dinner this semester. It starts with a few pieces of lettuce, either white or green (the yellow lettuce is gross), then a layer of spinach, a sprinkling of feta cheese, then a ladle of the “Fat-free Tomato Basil Vinaigrette.” It’s pretty good, and has enough different flavors to keep it somewhat interesting day-in and day-out.

My first meal today was lunch, as I only had one class, from 11:30-1. I was very excited, as it was the first time in months that the elusive M&M Rice Krispie Treats. Since they don’t appear on the menu too often, I had five of them, along with a bowl of Same Ol’ Salad. Then I wrapped three more in a napkin to save for later, although I wound up eating all of them on the short walk back to my room. And they were pretty big.

After having some dieter’s remorse over the eight M&M Rice Krispie Treats, I decided to have a smaller dinner. I had a Cajun chicken breast, and a small scoop of the sautéed onions that were intended for the Philly cheese steaks.

I was behind schedule on my meal plan for some reason, and decided to use a meal credit after dinner at the little convenience store place. So I bought and ate a bag of milk-chocolate covered pretzels called Flipz, which are utterly delicious. They come in milk, dark, and white chocolate flavors, and are extremely addictive. I also ate a bag of Baked Lays, which sounded healthy at the time.

After all this eating, I arrived at the gym and did a preliminary weigh-in of 184, the same weight as yesterday. After ellipticalling for a while I weighed in again, at 182.5.

That was my day, weight-wise. I hope it was sufficiently boring enough to stop you, my dear readers, from ever wondering about my eating habits ever again.

Day 80: 182.5

Stakes and Steaks

2007-03-26T20:19:00.001-07:00

Last night at around midnight, I was hungry. There wasn’t any food to speak of in my room, so I walked down to the vending machines. The one machine which wasn’t out of order didn’t have much of a selection only a few candy bars and bags of chips. I decided to get a bag of plain M&Ms, eagerly anticipating the way they would melt in my mouth, not my hands. So I put in the money, pressed “E6” or whatever, and waited.

But the M&Ms did not fall. The spiral rotated fully, leaving the package of M&Ms without any visible restraints, yet the package never fell.

Annoyed, I smacked the glass, kicked the machine, and even tried to shake it by leaning into the machine with my shoulder. But nothing happened.

I figured I could just buy another pack of M&Ms and two would fall, and all would be right with the world. So I put in some more money, pressed “E6” or whatever, and waited again.

The first pack of M&M’s dropped immediately, but the one behind it merely assumed the precarious perch the other had occupied. My smacking, kicking and shaking again was futile.

I then had a decision to make: should I stop my losses, accepting this one package and leaving the other for someone to possibly get for free later? Or should I keep going, continuing to buy M&M’s until I broke even? A gambling man, I chose the latter.

And it worked. My third attempt to purchase M&M’s yielded two packets.

I was ecstatic. I couldn’t help but jump up and down (as if there’s any other way to jump) a few times before retrieving all the M&M’s from the trough at the bottom of the machine.

Playing the odds on the vending machines is an absolutely thrilling activity, although frustrating. It’s a form of gambling that’s legal in all fifty states, the District of Columbia, Puerto Rico, and Guam. The stakes are always relatively obvious, and the activity is extremely simple. It’s a lot more exciting than a scratcher ticket, despite all those ads saying how thrilling those are. Last year, playing a vending machine with a group of friends, we successfully managed to use a higher bottle of juice to dislodge two dangling bottles below, getting three bottles of juice for the price of one. It was extremely exciting. Any guard who saw our reactions on a security camera would likely have been quite confused as to the source of our bliss.

Although it may be more enjoyable, hitting the jackpot playing the vending machines isn’t nearly as lucrative as hitting the jackpot in the lottery. It is somewhat more dangerous, given the fact that an average of two people per year is killed by falling vending machines per year. It may be even more damaging to dieters such as myself, who have no business buying three packets of M&M’s at a time.

It’s too bad there aren’t more diet friendly options in vending machines. Negative calorie foods and other diet-friendly options such as grapefruits are rarely stocked.

Playing my Family Feud computer game the other day, I got a question asking for foods not found in vending machines. The first thing I said was “meat,” which, while extremely true, was not one of the answers. I don’t know what 100 people they surveyed, because I’ve never seen a slab of sirloin or a filet mignon in a vending machine during my lifetime. Although I’m willing to bet that if anyone knows of a meat-filled vending machine, it’s Louie Anderson.

I’ve only eaten two of the M&M packets so far, which I resigned myself to predicting would add about half-a-pound to my weight. I also had two Taco Bell chicken quesadillas with extra creamy jalapeño sauce, two-thirds of my “usual”. But I managed to maintain yesterday’s weight of 184, much to my delight. With no fourth meal planned for tomorrow, odds are I will be going down. I’d certainly put my money on it.

Day 79: 184

Weight Loss Icon: Tony Perkis

2007-03-26T20:18:00.000-07:00

It is with great pleasure that I present this week’s Weight Loss Icon, Tony Perkis, Jr. It was only a matter of time before this titan of weight loss was honored, as his accomplishments in the weight loss arena outnumber those of almost anyone.

Tony is an entrepreneur and motivator, a man who has dedicated his life to saying things like “yes” and “you better believe it.” When Tony was twelve years old, he weighed 319 pounds. He had bad skin, low self-esteem, and no self-respect. Luckily, the caste system smiled upon his soul, and he was born into royalty. His father, Tony Perkis, Sr., the Lighting Fixture King of Western Pennsylvania, was able to beckon the finest private tutors to his court, to educate his son and aid in his weight loss. While these tutors have never been named, it is likely that Karen Carpenter and other Weight Loss Icons of that era were among them.

By the time Tony reached adulthood, his optimism and positive attitude toward weight loss allowed him to “eat success for breakfast—with skim milk.” Tony was inspired to bring his knowledge of weight loss to the masses, to make his program, the “PerkiSystem” the #1 weight loss infomercial. With competition such as the Ab-Roller, Ab-Lounge, and Ab-Doer, his goal was lofty, to be sure.

Little is known about the PerkiSystem today. Our modern ignorance of its techniques is likely the sole reason Americans are getting as fat as they are. We do, however, know a few aspects of the regimen. It sensibly advocated a decrease in food intake and an increase in metabolic output, which, while simple, is a sound approach. We also know that the eighteenth level of the PerkiSystem included lying on a bed of nails while an ice block lying on the abdominal muscles is smashed with a hammer. This godlike feat is something one cannot help but marvel at.

Tony decides to film his infomercial at Camp Hope, a fat camp that he buys from the fiscally irresponsible Bushkin family. His choice to first use the PerkiSystem on overweight children was a humanitarian endeavor of epic proportions, noteworthy enough to be documented in the 1995 Disney film Heavyweights. Like other Disney heroes before him, Tony faced villainous adversaries. While Aladdin battled Jafar, Ariel faced Ursula and Simba fought scar, Tony faced a far more fearsome opposition in the form of obese children.

Tony was an angel sent to intervene on the behalf of the parents of these children, parents who were defrauded into believing that Camp Hope aided in weight loss. The parents sent their kids to lose weight, making it clear that they did not send the kids to “go-kart camp.” Had it not been for Tony’s takeover of the operation, it is likely that several complaints would have been registered with the Better Business Bureau. The only workout the children ever experienced before Tony was from manically hiding candy. After Tony’s arrival, parents are so impressed with Tony’s management that they threaten to sue for the right to send their children there.

As far as we can tell, only one person associated with Camp Hope ever lost any weight. That person is Tim, a counselor at the camp who has been there for eight years. It is not likely that Tim lost weight because of the camp, as he would be the only exception to its ineffectiveness. It is far more likely that he used some sort of outside diet.

Tony’s arrival rescued the campers from inept personnel such like Pat, an overweight, bumbling counselor who has been at Camp Hope for sixteen years and does not appear to have lost a pound. Pat claims to have never scored a point in anything in his life. This is an incredibly pathetic accomplishment, given how easy it is to score a few points in things such as Scrabble or the SAT. Tony does not resent Pat’s ineptitude, however, and gives him the opportunity for the best exercise of his life when he disassembles the go-karts, forcing Pat to push them around the course on his own power.

Despite his immense qualifications, the children are resistant to ever give Tony the “Hi! Hi! Hiya!” he deserves. The children eat contraband food to spite Tony, trying to gain weight in order to sabotage his infomercial. The campers clearly feel threatened by Tony's success, a level of success they know they will never be able to reach due to their corpulence.

Tony, extremely resourceful, tries endlessly to help the campers lose weight. Tony symbolically destroys “The Blob,” a flotation device which distracted the campers from the cardiovascular activity they should have been getting from swimming. He even brings in consultants from a nearby girls camp to teach the campers about bulimia, but the girls are reluctant to share their knowledge.

But the campers fail to see Tony’s good intentions, perhaps blinded to his wisdom by their fat cheeks. He grows somewhat frustrated, even lamenting that his one-legged grandmother could run faster than one of the portlier campers. It is not readily clear, however, whether this is a condemnation of the camper or merely an example of Tony’s athletic lineage. Despite the adversity of the situation, Tony manages to be flexible. When the campers lack hustle, he is open to cancelling lunch.

The campers’ jealousy of Tony ultimately leads to his tragic exit from the camp. While Tony is selflessly helping the campers through a 20-mile hike, demonstrating yoga techniques and dispelling myths about the abdominal muscles, the campers devise a plan to overthrow him. The campers eventually trick their dear old Uncle Tony by exploiting his good nature, placing a trap in front of a boy whose muscle cramp Tony was about to tend to.

Tony is then imprisoned by the campers, a caged voice of wisdom reminiscent of Nelson Mandela. Without his guidance, the camp dissolves into a disgusting orgy marked by gross quantities of chocolate syrup and pizzas topped with Twinkies. The campers begin to understand what they lost, but are unwilling to admit this to Tony, cruelly leaving him to rot in his cell.

Like Mandela, Tony eventually escapes his British jailor, and proceeds to an assembly of the campers and their parents. Tony makes a last plea for the attention and respect of the campers, proving his lightness by walking on broken glass, and his dexterity with a series of back-handsprings. Tony tragically slips on his last back-handspring, crashing into a wall. He then leaves the camp in shame, crushed that he was unable to make a positive difference in the lives of the children.

Despite his untimely departure, Tony left a lasting impact on the camp. Camp Hope had been a perennial loser in the “Apache Relay,” a competition with neighboring Camp MVP. Camp Hope won the relay for the first time in the first year of Tony ownership of the camp, just one of the many feathers Tony has in his weight loss cap.

Tony has largely flown under the radar since his stint at Camp Hope, but his legend lives on. People far and wide still sing Tony’s praises, citing him as an incomparable weight loss guru for the ages. While ellipticalling one day, I saw a girl on a nearby elliptical wearing a shirt with “I’m Perkisizing!” emblazoned across the back. It was a beautiful reminder of just how inspirational Tony still is in the exercise plans of so many around the world. His life force should be an inspiration to you as well, gentle reader. Know that wherever you go, Tony believes in you.

Mixed Blessings

2007-03-25T16:56:00.000-07:00

After an atrocious showing in men’s doubles, I was looking to redeem myself in the mixed doubles tournament on Saturday. While I had believed my odds of success in the men’s doubles had been decent, I knew that my odds of walking away with a title in mixed doubles were much better. We were the defending champions in mixed doubles, having won the title last April. Repeating was going to be more difficult than our win last year, as the field was twice as large. More specifically, the field had increased from one team to two teams.

The two teams were very similarly constructed, made up of a large male and a female in the vicinity of 105 pounds. It could be said that both teams were following the “huge-tiny” model which applies to so many Amazing Race teams, such as John Vito and Jill, Flo and Zach, and Charla and Mirna. It was very reassuring to have someone closer to an ideal weight of 105 on my team (my fellow 105-persuer), although I was disappointed that the huge edge that provided was nullified by an equally weighted female opponent.

Thankfully, playing mixed doubles was drastically different from playing in the men’s doubles tournament. Because of the wonderful slimness of two of the competitors, there was a lot more room to maneuver during mixed doubles, giving the court less of a sardine can feel.

There is also a strange etiquette to playing mixed doubles, which I had observed in watching professional matches, but had never previously experienced. Mixed doubles pairs are made up of a male and a female player, and, stereotypically, the male is the stronger of the two players. While it may therefore be advantageous to aim a large majority of shots at one’s female opponent, it is considered unsporting to do so. A male opponent once pegged Venus Williams with an overhead during mixed doubles competition, eliciting boos from the crowd. While they were likely mad at him for picking on a female opponent, it is also possible they were just booing Williams for letting her sister get so fat.

Medium-length story short: we won. In the place of gold medals, we were given t-shirts, a perfectly awesome prize to seize. Considering how people stop just short of killing each other to claim projectile shirts at baseball games, finagling a shirt through a mere racquetball match is a pretty desirable prospect.

Today, still reveling in yesterday’s championship and Friday’s wonderful unofficial weight, I was eager to see just how beneficial this winning would be to my losing. My excitement was expediently crushed to smithereens when I weighed in at 184 on my official scale.

I was stunned. I got off, re-zeroed the scale, and got on again. I got 184, again. It was a jump of four pounds from my unofficial weight Friday, and a jump of two pounds from Thursday. I didn’t have an explanation—I hadn’t eaten any more than usual, and had played a fair amount of racquetball over the weekend. So why the spike?

I should say that it doesn’t surprise me that my weight was lower on the scale at the racquetball courts. It was low last time too, and then spiked drastically upon my return to my regular scale. So which scale should I believe?

If I were to follow “Ben’s Law”, I would ignore the difference between the weights and just focus on the fact that I’m still fat. But in the meantime, I need to consider which scale is a more accurate assessor of my progress. My usual scale is crueler, and displays my weight in an old-fashioned manner. The racquetball scale is digital, and perhaps more optimistic.

These scales remind me of famous judges. I am not referring to the scales of blind justice, but to the judges of American Idol. My usual scale is the Simon—it tells me the harsh truth, is the most believable, and always has the last word. The racquetball scale is Paula—rarely is attention paid to what it says, it always has nice things to say, and is likely addicted to painkillers.

Maybe I would be happier if I always weighed in on the Paula scale. I would be seeing lower weights, although I would have some doubts about the veracity of my reports. I would know that the Simon scale was lying in wait to tell me just how bizarrely dreadful I was. So I will continue to take Simon’s criticisms like a man. A fatter man.

Day 78: 184

Boxed In

2007-03-23T07:51:00.000-07:00

For the second consecutive March, I entered the men’s doubles intramural racquetball tournament, which began today. We lost two consecutive matches last year, taking the quickest possible exit from the double-elimination bracket. My hopes were higher this year, as I arrived more experienced, and, more importantly, about 23 pounds lighter, which makes me 23 times more formidable. Further bolstering my hopes was the designation of ‘A’ and ‘B’ divisions. We entered the ‘B’ division, which should have made us a lock for the tournament title.

But we got bounced faster than kindergarteners trying to use fake IDs. It was quick, and relatively painless. By the time it was clear that we had no shot of winning our second match in the double elimination tournament, I was very ready for it to be over, to have our tournament lives mercifully euthanized.

As soon as the first ball was struck, I remembered how much I disliked doubles, particularly doubles racquetball. The small room which passes for a court, already adequately filled to capacity with two players, is utterly incapable of fitting four. It was very claustrophobic. It was reminiscent of the start of a cross country race, where movement is impossible and there is nary an opening to get any space to yourself. Except for the fact that, unlike in a race, the players never got any more spread out. Cross country was also more fun when crowded. I always enjoyed blocking people during races (a skill I was able to parlay into musical chairs success). Hearing faster people whine and whimper as they struggled to pass me on a narrow trail was one of the few delights I could take from competition, as my times beat few. The rules of racquetball do not allow for such whimsically mischievous obstructions, sadly.

While it’s possible that, with several better bounces, I might have won the singles tournament, I know that we never had a shot of winning in doubles. Two things were going against me: I have very little experience in doubles, and I went into the tournament approximately 77 pounds overweight, weighing approximately 182 pounds. It is clear to me that these two reasons, different though they may seem, go hand-in-hand. Had I played more doubles leading up to the tournament, the sauna-like conditions of the packed courts would have drained several dozen more pounds out of me. At a weight closer to 105, I would have more room to move around the court, and would likely be a

As if going 0-for-2 in the tournament wasn’t bad enough, I was made to be a loser once more when I weighed in. A loser of two pounds, that is. I have to depreciate today’s weight of 180 with an asterisk, however, as it did not come from my usual scale. It’s a nice number to look at all the same, one that can hopefully be lowered even further with tomorrow’s mixed doubles tournament.

Day 76: 180*

Al Fresco

2007-03-22T10:49:00.003-07:00

Today the campus of the University of Michigan looked like it does in admissions brochures; students filled the fields and open spaces, studying on blankets, throwing Frisbees, and basking in the sun. Students are taking advantage of warmer weather, as the temperatures have jumped 24 degrees in the past two days, to a downright sweltering 63°F. Warm spells, no matter how small, lure students desperate to thaw outside on a day that would be considered chilly a month later on the calendar.

Activities that normally would be done indoors are done outdoors at a detriment to productivity and comfort. Studying on itchy, uneven grass is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and leads to less studying. Taking a nap outdoors leads to the threat of getting ants in one’s pants, or perhaps getting bitten by a rabid squirrel, threats that are greatly reduced when napping indoors.

Perhaps weight gaining is another activity that could be made less effective by taking it outdoors. Eating outdoors, al fresco, like at a Paris café, could result in gaining less weight. It’s a concept that the French have grasped for years, as evidenced by the book French Women Don’t Get Fat. What makes eating outdoors so slimming? I am not entirely sure, but I believe it has something to do with pigeons dropping des petits cadeaux into your fattening bouillabaisse, rendering it entirely inedible.

I just hope that being outdoors hasn’t been too detrimental to this entry. I brought my lumpy widescreen computer outdoors in order to see what all the hype about being outdoors is about. I have to say, I don’t quite get it. Glare is making it hard to see what I’m writing, and I’ll have to wait until I’m indoors again to connect to the internet and upload this entry. I guess this is what it’s like for Amish bloggers.

As I will be outside for a while, I won’t be able to make it to a scale before the gym closes early today. Hopefully all this fresh air will help make the beginning of the doubles racquetball tournament successful tomorrow. I leave you, dear reader, with a tantalizing question mark.

Day 75: ?

Diet Spotlight: Combat

2007-03-22T10:49:00.001-07:00

With all the obvious drawbacks of war, other less-than-ideal aspects of it are often overlooked. These include a complete dearth of comfortable mattresses, zero premium movie channels, and, in the eyes of some, MREs. MREs, the short form of “Meals, Ready-to-Eat,” are the packaged individual rations provided for American military personal in combat.

Each MRE contains a starchy main course, a spread for crackers, a dessert, a powdered beverage mix, a spoon, condiments, and a flameless ration heater, which is used to warm the food by mixing water with chemicals.

Because of their application, all MREs are made to fit specific guidelines. Each MRE must weigh between thirteen and eighteen ounces, must provide roughly 1200 calories, and must be able to withstand a parachute plummet of 1,250 feet. Most objectionably, the food must be able to sustain a minimum shelf life of three and a half years at room temperature, far longer than anything should be considered edible.

With all the advertisements attempting to recruit my from my demographic, I find it strange that none of these commercials MREs. After all, people my age do eat. What is the military trying to hide? Are MREs kept hidden because they could be seen as a negative, or rather because they are precious military technology to be kept out of the hands of the enemy? Could it be that the reason that MREs are not available on the free market is that their ability to aid in the weight loss of a potential enemy would create an immeasurably more formidable opponent for our adversaries? Are MREs the undeployed stealth bombers of the war on obesity?

It is quite possible. Military personnel have bashed MREs in the media, referring to them as “Meals Rejected by Ethiopians.” This misnomer is merely a lie promulgated instituted by the Joint Chiefs of Staff in order to trick civilians into thinking that MREs would be frowned upon by a culture that clearly puts a high value on slimness.

MREs have also been publicly criticized by many for their inability to be…dishonorably discharged, so to speak. Al Franken quipped at a USO appearance that he had eaten five MREs, and “none of them had an exit strategy.” While some may diagnose this as constipation, I suggest that the MRE has likely evaporated completely in the digestive tract, as it has been designed to keep the soldier who ingests it a lean, mean, fighting machine.

And unlike the grapefruit diet, which restricts the dieter to a single flavor, a diet of MREs allows for a smorgasbord of tastes. MREs come in as many flavors as the civilian equivalent Lean Cuisine, without the risk of freezer burn. Varieties include Grilled Beefsteak with Mushroom Gravy, Penne with Vegetables and Salsa in Spicy Tomato Sauce, Chicken Tetrazzini, Vegetable Manicotti, BBQ Pork Rib, and Chili with Macaroni, a dish that shows the fusion-style the military is capable of.

MREs are also desirable because of their exactly measured quantities. Instead of coming in the popular 100-calorie portion, which forces the dieter to eat more than one pack, MREs contain in 1200 calories, enough to easily sustain the dieter for a day or four. And since many of the calories in the pack (such as condiments) are unlikely to be completely consumed by the dieter, the caloric ingestion is likely less than the dieter realizes.

Just as camouflage clothing made its way over to the United States populace, making us all less visible, MREs will likely make us less visible as well, as we become slim enough to hide behind even the narrowest of flagpoles.

But making the people who live in the country as thin as those who defend the country isn’t cheap. Once MREs were available to refugees of Hurricane Katrina, they immediately hit the black market. Cases of MREs were sold on eBay, fetching near $100 for 12 meals, or about $8.33 per meal. The price will likely go down once the sellers are not limited to southerners, who are likely more reluctant to part with the MREs than most Americans, as they are in more desperate need of a weight loss solution.

As of now, a combat diet is available only to the troops. Military eats, American style, are only on the menu for those who’ve enlisted. With all the trouble the armed forces are having getting people to sign up for battle, it’s a mystery why the MREs aren’t the focal point of all recruiting campaigns. “Be all that you can be” should be “Lose a pound or seventy.” Only then, for so many, will weight loss be mission accomplished.

In Tandem

2007-03-21T20:10:00.001-07:00

While it’s not the most formidable poker hand, the pair is one of the most important units of grouping in society. While most sports either consist of individuals or larger teams, pairs crop up on occasion. Be it horse and jockey, Pro-Am golfers, ice dancers, or beach volleyball squads, pairs crop up in a variety of sports outside of the public eye.

I spent much of my illustrious high school sports career playing a pairs sport—doubles tennis. This was not by choice, but rather because I was not deemed good enough to play at one of the four singles positions.

I hated doubles. I hated the lack of personal accountability that came with it. I hated the lack of “I” in “team.” I hated not being able to take complete control of how to construct points. My style of play was based on making my opponent get so fed up with the slowness of my shots that he self-destructed, and when only half of our pairs shots were coming in at a speed only a Slowsky could love, my opponents never got sufficiently frustrated, and we would get crushed.

I was a terrible doubles partner. Because my slow shots never worked the way I wanted them to, I wound up hanging my partner out to dry repeatedly, as my lobs would be returned as smashes at his head. I felt guilty sometimes, but would find a way to blame it on my partner. That was the upside of doubles—there was always an obvious person to scapegoat.

Others flourish when playing with others. An increasing large number of professional tennis doubles tournaments are won by “doubles specialists,” players who focus on doubles, ignoring the more lucrative singles opportunities. These players believe that they are the Tennilles of the sporting world, and that they would be nothing without a Captain by their sides.

Some find themselves as part of a pair only because they could not exist them. Perhaps the clearest example of this in modern sports is Doug Mirabelli, the Red Sox backup catcher who is on the team solely to catch for Tim Wakefield. While Jason Varitek, the starting catcher, is a far better hitter, he is utterly incapable of catching Wakefield’s knuckleballs. The Wakefield-Mirabelli pairing is symbiotic and codependent, which may initially seem admirable, but it really means that if one of the two is gone, the other is utterly useless.

I have an opportunity to try my hand at pairs competition this weekend, as the racquetball season at the University of Michigan comes to a thrilling conclusion with the fiercely contested doubles tournaments, which start on Friday. I am entered in men’s doubles and mixed doubles. I entered both divisions last year as well. My men’s doubles team did not win any matches last year, the disappointment from which was offset by winning the mixed doubles championship. While some may contend that our mixed doubles victory was merely the result of no other teams signing up, I would argue that it was a praiseworthy achievement because of the incredible amount of intimidation my name strikes in the hearts of others.

In my limited experience participating in the format, I have difficulty understanding why racquetball was expanded to doubles. It’s confusing, although not as confusing as why it was decided that four people could play table tennis at once, or why two people can ride one bicycle. The small racquetball court gets incredibly crowded during doubles, as the four players fall all over one another. From a weight loss perspective, however, doubles is wonderful, as the body heat in the court makes for incredible sweating.

Not that it looks like I need any extra help. I weighed in at 182, my second-consecutive official low. If I keep this up, by the time of next year’s tournaments I should weigh near the same as my racquet. In the mean time, I’ll have to settle for 182, which, while 77 pounds from my goal, should help me toward winning a pair of titles this weekend.

Day 74: 182

Spin Cycle, Part I

2007-03-20T00:31:00.001-07:00

I did my laundry today. This event wouldn’t be especially newsworthy if it weren’t for the rarity of this event. I do laundry only about once a month. While most people have to do it on a far shorter interval, I am able to delay the chore because of the massive amount of clothing I somehow own. I don’t purchase new clothing very much, I just never get rid of any of it. So I have more than a month’s worth of clothing that I cycle through slowly. It’s not until my second hamper overfloweth that I determine that I should do some laundry some time in the next few days.

When I stop procrastinating, I pack away all my dirty clothes into my hamper and an enormous duffel bag, and scour the building for available washing machines. Because of the enormous quantity of wash I need to do, I have to use an average of five washing machines. There are only two washing machines per floor in my dorm, so I am forced to utilize machines on three or more floors. Keeping track of machines on multiple floors may seem daunting, but I have convinced myself that it’s merely a chance to practice multitasking combined in with a stair workout.

You may be wondering why I let my laundry build up like I do, why I wait until I have five or more loads of dirty clothes to lug around the building looking for an open machine. The answer is simple: it’s because I can. When everything goes to plan, laundry takes only a couple of hours once a month. When everything goes to plan, that is.

When everything doesn’t go to plan, I run into problems. The most common snafu I encounter is a lack of available machines. Schlepping my clothes around the hallways in vain may be frustrating, but it’s a good workout. It’s also a temporary problem, as I have no difficulty staying awake until the machines eventually free up.

A bigger problem is a machine malfunctioning. Many of the washing machines, perhaps ill-equipped to handle the bales of laundry I shovel into them, fail to do enough of a spin cycle. When I arrive to a machine that insufficiently spun, I find my clothes incredibly wet and heavy, and they drip all over my feet as I fling them into the dryer. It’s not pleasant.

The problems don’t end there. Usually one dryer cycle isn’t enough to get the clothes dry, so I have to tack on another. This extra cycle, aside from making the whole process an hour longer, often winds up shrinking the clothes. Although shrinking clothes might seem like a plus for someone who is preparing to weigh 105 pounds, the shrinking is often uneven, making the clothes tight in all the wrong places.

This catastrophe is entirely due to the fact that the clothes didn’t get spun enough. If the spin cycle had clicked in, the excess water weight would have flown off the clothes and they would have been dryer-ready. Instead, the clothes are only fit to be hand-me-downs to Ken and Barbie.

Are the roots of all our problems this simple? Is everything bad in our lives the result of insufficient spinning? It may be. Perhaps if I had spun a little more, taking the time to pirouette every now and then between classes, I would never have reached 205 pounds. Or maybe we, like clothing, need to be spun in machines in order to lighten. We should strap ourselves into dangerously powerful g-force simulators, like Roger Moore in Moonraker (above), and watch as the fat flies off us centrifugally. By turning, turning, we’d come ’round right. And we’d only need to do it every month or so.

Unfortunately, with no technology accessible, too many people let weight pile up like my clothing, with no way of eliminating it quickly. Procrastination leads to protuberance, and complacency allows us to swell like a man putting on a hundred pounds of t-shirts.

While we can’t peel one hundred pounds as easily as he put it on, we can certainly try. Turning the Tide®, beginning a new Era® of thinness, may not be as easy as we would All® would like it to be. Because depending on how much we allowed ourselves to Gain®, it takes longer than we would like to rid ourselves of the unwanted Bounty® of weight, to Wisk® away the weight and become the skinny Dynamo® we all hope to be. It’s a trying process that can leave one easily feeling Downy®.

Despite these frustrations, I have reason to Cheer® today. I weighed in at 183, my lowest official weight so far. It’s still a way from being a washboard, but it’s another step toward bleaching away a stain that used to weigh 100 pounds.

Day 73: 183

The Elastic Clause

2007-03-19T09:07:00.003-07:00

Today’s induction of Mike Huckabee into Weight Loss Icondom ran pretty long, so I’ll keep this pretty short, and hopefully sweet. Speaking of sweet, I had Splenda in my coffee for the first time today, and it was phenomenal. It was far sweeter than sugar ever could be, with zero calories to boot. I was thoroughly impressed, and would recommend that all my readers immediately steal as many little packets as they can from the nearest coffee shoppe. But I digress...

I ran into a problem today with a belt that had never let me down before. It was a belt I got during my stint in JV baseball during my freshman year, which is made up of leather around the buckle and elastic cloth elsewhere. It is a one-size-fits-all belt, which stretches to accommodate all who don the baseball uniform, even David Wells. It had remained loyal to me for some time, as it stretched willingly as I blimped in the years following my baseball stint. Through buttons popping off and seams splitting, the baseball belt held tough, never failing to support pants of increasingly larger waist sizes as was necessary and proper.

Despite its battle-tested, the baseball belt struggled today. When I put it on, it just sort of hung from the belt loops limply, not doing anything to aid in the structural integrity of my khakis.

I had absolutely no idea what to do, what to feel. Sadness, that a piece of clothing which had stood by me no matter how fat I got was now useless? Pride, that I had lost enough weight to make sympathetic clothing obsolete? I was experiencing a crisis of faith, as an accessory which I had idolized for years was proven mortal.

Then I realized there was a little metal adjuster thing that let me tighten the elastic strap, and all existential questions were made moot. Even though it was resolved rather easily in the end, it was a life-altering incident all the same.

These wardrobe issues that crop up because of weight loss are something I had anticipated, but am still entirely unprepared for. I must remember, however, that these issues are a privilege, and I risk coming off as far too “poor little rich boy” for not recognizing them as such.

Luckily, it appears that I am on my way to having more such problems in the near future. I weighed in today at 184.5, a very respectable 1.5 pounds below yesterday. Hopefully this weigh-in marks the end of that nasty upswing I have suffered through of recent. I’m back under 90% of my original weight, a necessary milestone on the road to being under 55% of my original weight, as I plan to be as soon as possible. That goal, unlike my belt, is entirely inflexible.

Day 72: 184.5

Weight Loss Icon: Mike Huckabee

2007-03-19T09:07:00.001-07:00

For all the writing I do for this project, I get to do relatively little reading. The only time I get to read anything on here is when one of my beloved readers leaves me a comment. One of these comments from a while back nominated Mike Huckabee, former Governor of Arkansas for the honor of Weight Loss Icon, as he was “inspired to run for office because he stopped craving biscuits.” After reading this comment, the LaB College of Cardinals met, and with a puff of white smoke, decided to canonize Huckabee as a Weight Loss Icon.

For the first several years of his governorship, Huckabee was significantly overweight. He says that he used to get winded walking up the steps of the Arkansas State Capitol, and feared that a reporter would interview him at the top as he wheezed and gasped for air. I’ve never been to Little Rock, and I don’t have an Arkansas bureau chief to confirm this for me, but it doesn’t appear that there are all that many steps at the Arkansas State Capitol. In other words, Huckabee must have been one fat razorback.

In 2003, Huckabee weighed almost 300 pounds. He was diagnosed with adult-onset diabetes, and was told that, if he didn’t lose weight, he would die within ten years. Huckabee decided, sensibly, to lose weight. And lose weight he did, with incredible speed. By March of 2005, Huckabee was slim enough to run the Little Rock Marathon. Since 2003, Huckabee has lost 110 pounds. Friends said his weight loss was such an overnight occurrence that it was as if Huckabee unzipped and stepped out of a fat suit.

Huckabee turned this weight loss into his political calling card, pushing obesity education to the forefront of his political agenda. Huckabee deserves a badge of courage for pursuing a weight loss platform that had to have been unpopular in a region as fat as the South. In order to spread his message to Arkansans, Huckabee wrote a book called Quit Digging Your Grave with a Knife and Fork, a title that ignored the fact that most unhealthy food bypasses silverware and is shoved into the mouth with greasy fingers. Huckabee reformed Huckabee also sponsored a list of 106 restaurants in Arkansas that had healthy foods on their menu. Unfortunately, the Zagat guide for Arkansas is somewhat limited, and fifty-two of the 106 restaurants on the healthy list were McDonald’s locations.

Weight loss became the only thing Huckabee ever talked about, to a fault. In an effort to use his weight loss in partisan rhetoric, Huckabee uncouthly compared losing weight to a “Democrat concentration camp.” This remark, aside from not making a whole lot of sense, was denounced by all colors of the political spectrum. With this episode in mind, let me take this opportunity to pass on this sage piece of advice to any and all public figures who may be reading: Drawing parallels to any aspect of the Nazi regime—Auschwitz, Adolf Hitler, Auschwitz, the Luftwaffe, etc.—will always blow up in your face. If it is necessary to remind an audience of something universally recognized as horrific, try mentioning that sitcom that spun off of My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

As he shrunk and shrunk, Huckabee’s popularity grew and grew. After he announced a net loss of one hundred pounds, a major motion picture, I ♥ Huckabees, was released as an homage to Huckabee and his family. He was named head of the Southern Governors’ Association, the organization that puts the “goober” in gubernatorial. Huckabee, smitten with his adoring public, decided to set up an “exploratory committee” in order to find out more about his odds of securing the GOP presidential candidacy for 2008. I’m not quite sure what exactly an “exploratory committee” consists of, although I do think it would be cute if it were a trio of women named Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria.

Despite becoming more and more electable with every pound lost, it’s not entirely clear that Huckabee is doing well in his efforts to secure the Republican nomination. Recent polls have at least five candidates (Giuliani, McCain, Romney, Thompson, Gingrich) ahead of Huckabee, as he is only referred to as a candidate polling at 2% or less. While his prospects may seem dreary, I doubt Huckabee is discouraged by this news. As a dieter, he is probably used to only getting to have a small piece of the pie.

Although falling outside of the top five of a national election may seem respectable, I will add that I don’t even think Huckabee would do all that well in a primary to elect a candidate from a party made up entirely of the ten Weight Loss Icons. Oprah would decimate Huckabee, then might even invite him onto the show to try to make him cry. Any time the name Gandhi shows up on the ballot in India, that candidate annihilates all comers, even she’s just an Italian-born woman who was the widow of Mahatama’s adopted son’s grandson, such as Sonia Gandhi (above). I’d even go as far as to bet that Karen Carpenter would defeat Huckabee, as candidates from that part of the country (such as John Ashcroft of Missouri) have a tendency to lose elections to dead people.

While Huckabee is not even my favorite former Governor of Arkansas, he clearly is a man who deserves praise. In slimming down, Huckabee beefed up his political stature, becoming less of a circle and more the shape of the Oval Office he hopes to one day occupy. And while he is trailing in the polls, it may simply be because not enough people have heard about his weight loss. If a Benjamin falls in the middle of Arkansas, does it make a sound? Even without knowing the answer to that age-old philosophical riddle, I am confident that Huckabee’s numbers will improve after the publication of this honor. With a résumé booster like “Weight Loss Icon” under his ever-tightening belt, Huckabee’s share of Republican loyalties is certain to triple. Unfortunately, it may turn out that tripling zero fails to make much of a difference.

O'Thenticity

2007-03-18T23:31:00.001-07:00

A week filled with meaningless holidays ended with a legitimate one: St. Patrick’s Day. A holiday which, here at the University Michigan, is an excuse for people to start drinking at around 1 P.M. 1 P.M. Dublin time, that is. This feast of Hibernians ends hibernation, as porches are used for the first time in months as a place for more than keeping a snow shovel. Students clad in Kelly green (and the occasional color blind person in red), primarily of no Irish heritage whatsoever, wander the streets in packs, laughing like hooligans not because of limericks, but rather because of Guinness. At least this year St. Patrick’s Day fell on a Saturday, which meant that less of the drinking was done during classes.

Through a dieting lens, this pseudo-Irish behavior makes little sense to me. Instead of channeling leprechauns, who are thin, manipulative, and lord over pots of gold, Americans celebrate St. Patrick Day by drinking. If Americans wanted to be more authentically Irish and lose weight, they should sit down to a meal of Irish stew and cabbage. They wouldn’t eat any of those two dishes, of course, because they are gross. They would leave with empty stomachs, which would expedite any drinking they planned on doing later, resulting in a lower caloric intake. For those actually wishing to eat, I suggest a bowl of clover as a festive, negative calorie treat.

“Cabbage, you say? I thought the cuisine of Ireland was based entirely on green food coloring!”

If only. While not found in many Irish cookbooks, green food coloring does abound this time of year, making any and all foods it tints look entirely inedible. My high school was big on using green food coloring to dissuade us from eating. The food they dyed the most was bagels, perhaps showing an effort to sway us toward Atkins.

I regret to admit that I have lost no weight since yesterday, as I only managed to maintain yesterday’s weight of 186, which is nothing to Erin Go Brag about. Hopefully I’ll find some way to start losing weight more quickly. If nothing all else fails, I can always try kissing the Blarney Stone in the hopes of getting mono.

Day 71: 186

N.B.: I’d be remiss if I failed to congratulate Daniela Hantuchova, who won the Indian Wells tournament for the second time in her career yesterday. Indian Wells is one of the three or four biggest non-Grand Slam tournaments on the tennis calendar, making her victory no small potatoes. Yet Daniela was up to the task again, the last one standing in a field of ninety-six players. I implore you all to raise your mugs of green beer to Daniela, and toast to her continued success.

Unorthodox

2007-03-17T20:51:00.000-07:00

Never one to withhold information from my beloved readership, I am writing my first ever Saturday post in order to bring you breaking information on the losing of a Benjamin. This post, while brief, should at the very least end the rumors swirling around the internet that the reason I never post on Saturdays is because of my practicing Orthodox Judaism. It’s an interesting theory, but, sadly, erroneous.

Unable to wait until Sunday to see if this horrible upswing would cease, I visited the gym today with a chip on my shoulder, a chip that I hoped I would be able to excise, I am hoping that this de-chipping result in the loss of about 83 pounds. I realize that I am hoping for a chip that would be far bigger than any previously documented chip, but I guess I’m just a salsa- bowl-is-half-full kind of guy.

However big this chip is, I can say that I reduced its mass by two pounds since yesterday, bringing my weight down to 186 in time for my first ever Saturday measurement. It’s a nice loss of two pounds from yesterday, but I can’t let myself get too cocky. This won’t be as easy as it might seem, as I imagine it will be hard to stay level-headed with something that big on my shoulder.

Day 70: 186

It's a Surprise Problem...Surprise!

2007-03-16T18:17:00.001-07:00

As my statistics professor (the one who uses Comic Sans) stepped onto the stage at the front of the lecture hall today, the lights went out, and a spotlight shone only on her. The projectionist led the students in a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday,” as the professor sorted through the card and bouquet of flowers that sat beside her overhead projector. Once the singing ended, she explained that her husband did this to her every year, and that it really wasn’t too much of a surprise.

I’ve been to a couple surprise birthday parties in my lifetime, and I never got the sense that the guest of honor was ever the least bit surprised. For all the effort that is put into surprising people on their birthdays, the surprises always seem underwhelming. It seems to me that one of the best parts of the whole birthday procedure is building up expectations, and surprises rob the celebrant of that opportunity.

Weighing in almost every day, I have plenty of time to build up expectations. I don’t expend a lot of energy trying to predict what my weight will be on any given day, although I usually have some idea what I’m in for. Usually the surprises are minimal, although there are times when my weight completely deviates from anything I would have guessed.

There are those out there who might hear this and tell me to “expect the unexpected.” These people are, in a word, dumb. “Expecting the unexpected” is inherently impossible, as once you expect something it becomes the expected. That maxim is entirely useless, and I hope it dies out very soon.

A more useful fortune cookie saying would be something that conveyed the message that the unexpected happens sometimes, no matter what you expect. This is clearly true in my case. When this quest began, I expected to be well on my way to 105 by this point, and I’m not. I’m not saying that I won’t eventually attain 105 pounddom, it just looks like it will take a little longer than I had anticipated. Having proceeded previously without any major problems of which to speak, I am pretty unequipped to deal with any bumps in the road. This recent interruption of my decimation is a problem that I don't know how to address, so I'll pretend it's not happening for the time being.

While I would love to jump out from behind a couch and yell my current weight at all of you, I cannot, as I have no weight to report today. This gives me until Sunday to wait with baited breath for the next weigh in. I hope these nightmarish weights in the upper 180s will subside, but if they don’t, I can’t say I’ll be surprised. But I can say, with some confidence, that I’ll be fatter.

Day 69: ?

The Idles of March

2007-03-15T01:22:00.000-07:00

Another day, another title created by inserting a letter into the name of the current nerd holiday in a weak attempt at humor. I don’t see this rut lasting through tomorrow, but it’s worth noting. And bemoaning.

Any weight gain, no matter how small, amounts to betrayal. Not only a betrayal of one’s own self, but all those people who have to look at you without the chance to express their lack of consent. But as I found myself gaining weight and writing about desserts the last few days, I had to question my own loyalties to myself and my peers. Looking in the mirror at my girth bubbling over, I couldn’t help but wonder (TM Carrie Bradshaw): “Et tu, fatass?”

Aside from the aforementioned focus on desserts, I cannot explain my recent gains in poundage. I have maintained my normal level of activity (although I did skip my exercising today). I have not been lying on a chaise lounge eating grapes, as nice as that sounds. But I have been sitting at my computer at length, as all college students do. And a quick pivot away from my computer sits the Girl Scout cookies. Certainly Satan finds a nearby dessert for the idle hands of all dieters.

Part of me (namely my mouth) is trying to eat them as quickly as possible, as to eliminate their tempting powers through complete secession. This strategy is diametrically opposed to the Charlie Bucket School of Rationing, which I have advocated previously, so it is no surprise that I have suffered as a consequence of this deviation.

This recent bulge in my weight should mollify those who have been skeptical of the seemingly unwavering decline in my weight over these last sixty-eight days. These spiteful skeptics may be further pleased to know that I weighed in at 188 pounds today, a full 1.5 pounds above my most recent measurement from two days ago. 188 is a harrowing number to see on the scale after having reached a low 184 more than once before. This regression is certainly disheartening. Heartbreakingly, I weighed less than 188 on Day 39.

Hopefully I will be able to stave off the assassination these cookies are plotting. I fear I may find myself in shambles like the ruins of Rome, but without the sustaining tourism revenue. This recent turn for the worse has blindsided me somewhat, but I know that if I survive, I will be better for it. With all the studies showing links between obesity and life expectancy, it should be very clear that what doesn't kill us makes us thinner.

Day 68: 188

Diet Spotlight: O-o

2007-03-15T01:14:00.001-07:00

If you’ve read up to this point you should be more than aware that losing weight has countless benefits. And thanks to writing here, I’ve experienced some unique benefits of losing weight in an unusually public fashion. These many benefits include an adoring fan base, made up of people who undoubtedly would not have given me the time of day when it looked as though I was going to spend the rest of my life at 205 pounds. Now on my way to the greener pastures of 105 pounddom, I have been able to impart wisdom onto a reader base across the world. It would make my head swell if I wasn’t so resistant to getting a girthy head.

But then a loyal reader pointed out to me that my efforts would not reach as broad an audience as it should, due to the fact that it only reaches an English speaking audience. This is a tragedy, to be certain, but not one I am in any position to remedy. The only translation I am at all qualified to provide would be “Perdre d’un Benjamin,” and it’s illiterateness would be offensive to Francophones around the world.

This reader suggested that I therefore flaunt the Englishness of this scripture by spotlighting a diet only accessible to those who speak English. And so I bring you a diet based on the language itself, in which the dieter is restricted to eating only foods which begin and end with the letter “o.”

The handful of foods that the diet does allow vary in their slimming power. Oregano is a food that I assume is able to pass as “negative calorie” in either it’s dried or fresh form. It can likely be ordered as a standalone dish at any Italian restaurant with a little arm twisting, although I’m not sure how much fun it would be to eat a whole bowl of it. And if it’s not fun, you’ll stop eating it, and refraining from eating is always a good idea.

The regimen does allow for the dieter to grease up this oregano with oleo. If one is feeling unsophisticated by using oleo, which is just an outdated name for margarine, they can use Olivio, a brand of butter substitute produced by Lee Iacocca. I don’t know how heading Chrysler led Iacocca to manufacturing Olivio, although I suspect it was because of the product’s possible applications as an automotive lubricant. The degree of virginity of the olive oil used in Iacocca’s factories is not known.

If the dieter is not in the mood for a plate of oregano at said Italian restaurant, orzo can also be ordered. Orzo is a rice-shaped pasta that is usually very soft and mushy. These traits may be undesirable to dieters who are looking to make themselves less soft and mushy.

If the Italian restaurant is next door to a Greek bar, the meal can be chased with a few shots of ouzo. Ouzo is a liquor made from anise that is often accompanied by cries of “Opa!” and the sound of shattering plates. The plate throwing and repeated screaming are intended to burn off some of the calories in the alcoholic beverage.

After this drink the dieter can opt for a dessert of Oreos. Oreos come in regular and “Double Stuf [sic]” varieties, which is unfortunate, as a “Half Stuf” variety would be most appreciated by those seeking to lose weight. Oreos are easily halved (unevenly), which is good for a dieter looking to ration. Oreos are dangerously addictive, however. Those with OCD may eat the cookies until the three columns in the package are even, which is no small task. I once got paid a dollar to eat an Oreo covered in guacamole, and it was surprisingly decent. The guacamole is verboten in the “O-o” diet, but I’m sure a sprinkle of oregano with a little viscous Olivio would sub nicely.

The diet does not allow for a lot of foods to be eaten, which is one of its most enticing strengths. There may be entire restaurant menus that do not offer anything that the dieter can eat. And so the dieter is left with no choice but to abstain from eating. Which four out of five dentists agree results in a loss of weight.

I offer you, gentle reader, the opportunity to be a guinea pig for the “O-o” diet before the FDA gets to it. The diet is entirely untested, which means that it has never failed (nor worked). But I have a feeling that any diet that focuses on a letter which resembles a zero can’t be all for naught.

Pie Day

2007-03-14T14:45:00.000-07:00

I realize that all the credibility I have earned thus far as a demigod of sorts in the religion of weight loss should be lost now, as I write about desserts for a second straight day. But this is the fault of the calendar, which dicates that Girl Scout cookie season should overlap with one of the most somber days on the liturgical calendar of dieting: 3.14, a.k.a. Pie Day.

I do like pies. Pies I like include cherry, apple, Chicago-style pizza, pecan, blueberry, lemon meringue, and, of course, Pumkin. Pies are gooey yet firm, a paradoxical food that is challenged by almost nothing. They are said to represent classic American cuisine, which implies that pies are both nationalistic and fattening. This fattening nature was lamented in the Don McLean classic “American Pie,” a song about how an overweight musician named the “Big Bopper” (yet another Flavor of Love allusion for your pleasure) caused a plane to fall out of the sky due to excess mass, as I think more planes would.

Pie clearly isn’t a food that should be a part of any diet regimen—eating even the smallest serving of it likely dooms the consumer to crisscrossing stretch marks in a traditional cherry pie pattern. Delicious as it may be microwaved then topped with soft-serve vanilla ice cream, I have to stay away from pie. If I dare partake in even a slice, my circumference will certainly swell with every morsel that increases my diameter.

Perhaps the only thing pies are good for in modern society is the occasional throwing. I never understood why it was decided that the appropriate projectile to use against Ann Coulter and contestants on What Would You Do? (right) is a pie. WWYD? had all sorts of contraptions used for pieing, wasting the caliber of engineering that could have been used to put men on Mars. People go through all the trouble of baking pies just to throw them at someone, when something like a cinder block would be far better exercise to shot put, and would likely make its target far more cognizant of the fact that they have enemies out there. With all the talk about violence on TV, the fact that children see a person get hit in the face with a pie every five seconds is overlooked. In this same vein, I never understood why the audiences in cartoons bring tomatoes to throw at disliked performers. Tomatoes do not require any baking, and is a more charitable thing to toss, as it contains far fewer calories. I concede that throwing is a better application for food than eating it, but it perplexes me all the same.

Even though I have abstained from pie, my results have been less than satisfactory. After charting an increase yesterday, I was not able to make it to the scale today, so I have nothing to report. This certainly does not bode well for me. Two straight days thinking about desserts, and now missed weigh-ins. What a good boy I am not.

Day 67: ?

Fat Mints

2007-03-13T09:21:00.001-07:00

This time of year is a season of revelry for the fat and gluttonous of America. More than chocolate at Valentine's Day, Smarties at Halloween, jelly beans at Easter, or gravy at Thanksgiving, the food that dominates this part of the calendar is disaster for any dieter. I am, of course, talking about Girl Scout Cookies.

Overpriced and hocked by child labor, Girl Scout Cookies are not available in stores, yet are as ubiquitous this time of year as March Madness pools. Girl Scout Cookies are difficult for even the most resolute of dieters to avoid buying, as they are peddled by little girls who are competing to win your heart, your cash, and a merit badge for door-to-door sales, which I imagine will strengthen their future Avon applications. The cookies raise money for "a good cause," although all the money actually goes toward is funding future cookie operations. And for those who are wondering, the jury is still out as to whether or not girl scout cookies are made from real girl scouts.

Luckily for the vulnerable public, girl scout cookies are not as injurious as they could be, due to a couple properties of the product which undermine its potential to produce potbellies. First and foremost of these properties is the high ratio of packaging to cookies in each container. The cookies are surrounded by more plastic than an actor being interviewed by Joan Rivers. Secondly, there is an odd inconsistancy that exists within the Girl Scouts of America regarding the names of their flagship product.

Regional differences in cookie nomenclature may also result in less gluttony than might otherwise occur. If an East Coaster in the Midwest such as myself tries to buy Tagalongs, Trefoils, Samoas, or Do-si-dos, he will be dismayed to find out that the local scouts do not have any, nor will any new shipments be coming in. This is because of the fact that these products are called Peanut Butter Patties, Shortbread, Caramel deLites, and Peanut Butter Sandwiches, respectively, in some parts of the country. Be careful not to let these new monikers make you think that these varieties are somehow less dangerous, as girl scout cookies by any other name will still make you fat.

I recently received a shipment of girl scout cookies from home, which, while much appreciated, is sure to undo the twenty-one pounds I've lost so far. Even with this warmspell we've had recently (71 degrees), allowing for a transition from racquetball to tennis and greater exercise, I fear that I will be done in by the cookies. I have to finish off this cache of girl scout cookies as quickly as I can, so that I can get back to the important task of losing weight.

The damage has already begun, full scale (pun intended). I weighed in at 186.5, which is a hefty two and a half pounds above yesterday. While I don't know how long this slide will last, or how fat I will get, I can promise that I will try my damnedest to make it through the boxes with as little inflation as possible. Scouts honor.

Day 66: 186.5

CoMMMBack

2007-03-12T13:13:00.001-07:00

One of the highlights of my visit to Yale was getting to see Hanson, the tour de force behind 1997's "MMMBop." Hanson exploded onto the music scene, combining elements of television shows gone by. They had the musical talent of The Partridge Family, the family structure of My Three Sons, of and hair of gold befitting The Brady Bunch girls. Hanson failed to equal the success of that incessantly piercing song, which is surprising, given the fact that none of them got noticeably fatter.

Ten years removed from this success, the boys of Hanson have changed quite a bit. They no longer have shoulder-length hair, which, while sapping their powers in Sampson-esque fashion, has to cut down on the frequency of being mistaken for girls. Isaac, 26, Taylor, 24, and Zac, 21, are all now married. Taylor even has three kids. Those are some scary stats, which can only be explained away by attributing their premature nuptuals to their Oklahoman heritage. People who live away from the coasts and Great Lakes seem to get married at earlier ages, probably because they have nothing else to do.

In very Yaleish fashion, Hanson was the guest at a "tea," which served as a question and answer session of sorts. The three made it clear that they wanted us to ask questions which would let them pontifficate about the evidently flawed music industry, which was unwilling to invest its energies toward the group that brought the world "MMMBop."

It surprised me how seriously the Hansons seemed to still take themselves. I would hope that when I eventually reach one-hit wonder status, I am willing to be a little more self-depricating, especially if my one song is as laughable as theirs was.

Seeing Hanson made me realize just how desperate those who have faded from the spotlight can be to come back. They went too long without a hit song, and were forgotten. The Hanson brothers still ache for the spotlight that once crowned on their long blond hair, likely in vain, as I don't think anyone I know would be seen buying a Hanson album.

Hanson's futile attempts to return to relevance made me wonder about the mortality of my efforts to lose these 100 pounds. I feared that if I ever went too long without losing weight, I would become a joke, and lose all credibility in the weight loss industry. I would be doomed whatever the weight loss equivalent is to playing only bar mitzvahs. It won't be pretty, but it will likely be kosher, a diet worth looking into.

Luckily for me, I don't have to worry about falling off the charts any time soon. I weighed in today at 184, a pound below yesterday, which equals my previous lowest official weight. Things are looking up as my weight goes down. But I will keep on looking to keep these pounds dwindling, looking for that secret no one knows. Because if I don't, I may never reach 105. And if I don't reach 105, I will have waxed philosophical about Hanson for nothing. Which is a terrible thing for anyone to have on their permanent record.

Day 65: 184

Weight Loss Icon: Anna Nicole Smith

2007-03-12T13:12:00.001-07:00

This week's Weight Loss Icon honoree is none other than the late Anna Nicole Smith. While it would have been easy for me to have talked about her when she died, I decided to wait for over a month to honor her. I did not do this out of respect for her family or her dignity, but rather to stall until her weight at time of death was released in the autopsy report. This anecdote should prove to those who may consider themselves candidates that there are no back doors into the pantheon of Weight Loss Icons--an inductee's weight (pre-cremation) has to be up to snuff in order to be enshrined.

It has to be noted that even if she had never lessened her weight by a single ounce, Anna Nicole would still deserve idolization. Even before she made a name for herself in weight loss, Anna Nicole was a textbook gold digger. By marrying E. Pierce Marshall, an eighty-nine year-old who was sixty-three years her senior, Anna Nicole set herself up for a profitable widowing. When Marshall kicked the bucket after thirteen months of marriage, Anna Nicole earned $449,754,134--a fortune surpassing anything this self-described "white trash" stripper would have ever had slipped into her g-string. She truly was a "freakin' genius."

Unfortunately, Anna Nicole decided that the best way to spend her money was on food. Now that she had money, she didn't need to use her body for money by posing for Playboy, an activity of hers which earned her the title Playmate of the Year for 1993. So she let herself go, and gained a lot of weight.

As it should in such situations, the courts intervened. The court reversed it's previous decision regarding Anna Nicole's inheritance, saying that she deserved none of Marshall's money. He would never have married her had she been fat, so as her weight inflated, her claim of legitimate marriage buckled.

Anna Nicole, who had become poor and fat, realized that she was nothing. So she got a reality show on E!, and started losing weight. She lost sixty-nine pounds, and eventually earned the right to be the spokeswoman for TrimSpa. But just like her other famous relationship that she entered for monetary purposes, Anna Nicole had an exit strategy to divorce herself from TrimSpa when the time was right.

When TrimSpa suffered several penalties from the Federal Trade Commission, Anna Nicole decided that she no longer wanted to represent the diet pill. She may have gone slightly overboard in her commitment to distance herself from TrimSpa, as she determined that the best way to avoid their bad press was to die. It was also an effective way for her to spitefully give TrimSpa additional bad publicity, as her death made TrimSpa look even more injurious.

During the battle over the estate she claimed to have inherited, Marshall's children spent millions of dollars in legal fees to try to prove that their father hadn't slept with Anna Nicole, before she lost weight. In the time since she lost weight, many men have been going on television to claim fatherhood of Anna Nicole's daughter, Dannielynn. These men include Howard K. Stern (right), Larry Birkhead, Alexander Denk, Mark Hatten, O.J. Simpson, Jim Carrey, and even Frédéric Prinz von Anhalt, Zsa Zsa Gabor's current husband. It would be a very crowded soundstage for a Maury paternity test episode, to say the least. These men are making these claims in order to boast that they slept with Anna Nicole after she lost weight. It just shows how someone who was once a whale can become a trophy bass with a few lost pounds.

That trophy, made of platinum blonde, will shine in the Weight Loss Hall of Fame for all eternity. You may be gone, Anna Nicole, but know this: we liked your body. And we will always remember it fondly.

Badly Beaten, Then Choked, Then Crushed

2007-03-11T10:33:00.001-07:00

Going into the third round of the racquetball tournament Saturday, I had a pretty high level of confidence. For starters, I had won my first two rounds, which is always a good start. But more importantly, I was getting thinner through every match, which made me a more and more formidable opponent. Rather than a beach ball who could easily be bounced from the tournament, I was a lean, mean fighting machine. The word “lean” is used there liberally, as I don’t think it can be ethically applied to anyone who weighs over 120 or so, but you get the idea.

The intimidation factor was clearly in play, as my third round opponent did not even bother to show up, as he must have realized that he would have little chance against someone who had the momentum of losing twenty pounds in two months. So with three hours to kill until my next match, I went to get lunch.

Which, obviously, was my undoing. The amount of hubris I showed by thinking that I could eat and remain competitive was sickening. And deservedly, I was demolished in my fourth round match, losing in two sets that weren’t in the least bit close.

My defeater, who I should have been able to keep up with roughly the same weight as I, decided to further humiliate me by asking me to guess his age. I intentionally low-balled his weight drastically, not coming within ten years of his actual age of 62. The whole thing was very obnoxious, and very Sally O’Malley, the Molly Shannon SNL character who would kick, stretch, and kick while screaming “I’m 50! 50 years old!” Those people who talk about how many "years young" they are just bug me. "Years young" is almost as ridiculous as me talking about starting this blog when i was 205 "pounds light."

So after getting knocked out of the winners’ bracket by a sexagenarian, I played my first match in the losers’ bracket this morning, With my competition the same weight as I, it was a very close match that I gradually took control of. I was winning 15-9, 10-2, when I slipped. I lost thirteen straight points to lose the second set 15-10. I then managed to regroup and gain a 4-2 lead in the third set. But again I lost thirteen straight points, and lost the set 15-4. It was choking on the level of Jean Van de Velde—behavior very unfit for a person on his way to an acceptable poundage.

So why did I lose? Since I can’t hate the player, I have to hate the game. Racquetball has some innate flaws that deviate the game from the weight-based meritocracy that all sports should be. As the ball can bounce off several walls and arrive at an overweight player beached in the middle of the court, racquetballs rules blasphemously negate the valiant efforts of those who have lost weight.

As if racquetball’s indiscretions hadn’t sufficiently put a damper on my weekend, I weighed in at a downright blimpish 185 pounds, a full 3.5 pounds above my appealing (if unofficial) weight after the second round of the tournament Friday. Adding that kind of injury to insult is horrible, and I can only pray that I have the resolve to bounce back. A downer, I know, but I don’t know if losing at racquetball will prohibit me from losing what I should.

Day 64: 185

Journeyman

2007-03-09T18:44:00.000-08:00

Renaissance men, jacks of all trades, and decathletes are people hard to dismiss, for their sheer scope of their achievements. None more so than Vince Spadea, who has managed to pull off the incredible “triple threat” of being a successful author, Top 50 professional tennis player, and aspiring rapper. And he has done all three with incredible style. With his self-created trucker hats sporting large rhinestone or glitter ‘S’ monogram, Spadea is not only a formidable opponent, but also a formidable designer.

Despite these immeasurably grand accomplishments, Spadea is hardly revered in the tennis community. Andre Agassi repeatedly assigned Spadea the label of “journeyman,” which essentially means that he is someone who has been around a long time and hardly ever did anything. Agassi, who once cut off all his hair in order to lose to ready himself for a comeback, tried to hedge on his comments by saying that Spadea’s journeyman status was because he had a crappy past, and not necessarily a crappy future. But karma was good to Spadea, as he beat the far superior Agassi twice in his career, including in the fourth round of the 1999 Australian Open, a tournament Agassi won four times.

Going into the start of the abbreviated competitive racquetball season, I contemplated my own status as a journeyman in the world of racquetball. While I am on my way to achieving my own “double threat” status by dominating the worlds of weight loss and musical chairs, I could easily be labeled as a journeyman by a condescending person who has achieved greatness in any of my fields of work.

So with something to prove, I headed into my first round match. The ‘B’ tournament, which I chose to enter after some debate, was a twenty player field, which meant that only eight of the twenty of us had to play first round matches. I wound up making it through that match with relative ease in two straight sets. Any sort of sympathy I might have felt for my opponent was quelled by the fact that it was a double elimination tournament, which meant that I had not ended his run, but had merely put it in jeopardy.

I then had to play again two hours later against someone who had gotten a first round bye, which I wasn’t too thrilled about. Longish story short, I lost the first set badly, but managed to come back and win the match in three. I even managed to throw in a Clijstersian split shot for a winner once, which was fun. Why I won I am not certain. He was a better player than I, and clearly more experienced. I most likely won because of my recent weight loss; I was the lighter of the two of us, and thus more deserving.

As nice as getting my first ever wins in racquetball tournaments was, my real prize was after the matches ended. Using the scale in the building I played in, I weighed in at 181.5. I believe this incredibly beautiful number, as I was sweating quite a lot in the humid cell of the racquetball court, but precedent requires that I befoul it with an asterisk. While I realize that a jury of my peers will have no choice to deem me an “also-ran” if I fall short of my goal of 105, I am confident that I will not be giving them sufficient cause to make such a claim any time soon.
Winning matches and losing weight is an unbeatable combination. But no matter whether or not I walk away from the tournament with hardware, I can rest assured that if I keep up this rate of weight loss, atrophy is in my future.

Day 62: 181.5*

Jetson

2007-03-08T12:19:00.002-08:00

Speculations about the distant future are rife with biases and incorrect guesses, which is perhaps inevitable. George Orwell’s 1984 was not fulfilled by the year 1984, as the USA PATRIOT Act was not passed until 2001. Back to the Future II, one of the most brilliant films of the twentieth century, was likely way off in its predictions of what 2015 will look like, as there is no way that within the next eight years we will see flying cars, hoverboards, or a Cubs World Series victory.

One glimpse into the future that seems more accurate is The Jetsons. Set in the late twenty-first century, The Jetsons live in a universe where those who exist all weigh approximately 105 pounds. Many seem to do this the conventional way, by being slender, although there are some chubbier people who compensate for their girth by being extremely short, namely Elroy and Mr. Spacely. The only character who is both tall and portly is Rosie the Robot, who probably weighs less than she appears as she is likely hollow. It’s nice to know that the good people of Hanna-Barbera recognized that heaviness will be selected for in coming generations.

The evolution is especially striking when The Jetsons are compared to The Flintstones. Despite getting fantastic aerobic exercise every morning from foot-powering their car to work, Fred and Barney remain primitively fat. It’s telling that while John Goodman and Rosie O'Donnell starred in the live action film made from The Flintstones, production of a movie about the Jetsons has apparently been postponed because of the inability to find any current actors thin enough to do the characters justice.

Looking for answers in our world today, it may be hard to tell if The Jetsons is an accurate vision of the future, or merely a concept car of sorts. From my own personal progress, I’d have to say the former. As time marches on, I have been getting thinner, although not with the consistency I would like. I weighed in at 184.5 today, which represents a gain of half-a-pound in the last day. It’s terrible momentum to be taking into tomorrow’s tournament, but I hope that I will be resilient enough to bounce back from this devastation, lest I get prematurely bounced from the tournament because of an extra half-pound of bounciness.

Day 61: 184.5

Diet Spotlight: Jenn(y Craig)

2007-03-08T12:19:00.001-08:00

After a two-week absence, diet spotlighting returns, with a profile of one of the most well-known programs in America today, Jenny Craig. Jenny Craig, which was founded in 1985 by Genevieve and Sidney Craig, cemented the corporate domination of the weight loss industry. With it’s 660 centers worldwide, Jenny Craig is now helping the obese of The United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand.

So who is Jenny? She is Genevieve Craig, a Louisianan who moved to Australia, gained forty-five pounds during pregnancy, then lost the weight and decided to use her talent for weight loss as a way to make money. And it’s worked.

The Jenny Craig program is based on eating foods produced with Jenny Craig for every meal, supplemented by counseling sessions with a Jenny Craig consultant. Following a pre-planned schedule, packaged meals are bought through Jenny Craig. When the dieter reaches her halfway point, she is allowed to eat non-Jenny foods for about 50% of her meals.

Watching TV for long enough will convince you that Jenny Craig will work for you. And the TV wouldn’t lie to you, would it?

As a general rule, fat people don’t have many friends. But if a fat person joins Jenny Craig, people may think she does. If she makes vague references to visiting Jenny, the illusion of companionship can easily be created.
The prescribed, packaged meals make for simple eating. By only eating Jenny Craig foods, dieters can rest assured that they are eating right. The foods can even be delivered to the dieter’s doorstep.
Jenny Craig boasts a large online community of message boards and chat rooms, so every dieter can talk to others for support. I’m not sure what makes people who haven’t yet reached their target weights authorities on the subject, but it’s a nice idea.
At every visit with the Jenny Craig consultant, weigh-ins are supervised. Having a witness to keep you honest is a wonderful incentive to lose weight. If you gain weight, someone will know, and may even start bitching at you like a dental hygienist telling you to floss.
Unlike many other diets previously spotlighted, Jenny Craig. Inc. is a corporate entity, owned by Nestlé, a publicly owned company. Dieters looking to put all their egg whites in one basket can participate in the program while owning shares of it.

Jenny Craig (the program, not the person) has many nagging flaws which may make you think twice before dialing 867-5309.

Since 2005, Kirstie Alley has been the spokesperson for Jenny Craig. Best known for playing someone who sold caloric beer in Boston in Cheers, a pregnant woman in Look Who’s Talking, and a fat actress in Fat Actress, it’s ironic that she would become the face of a weight loss organization. Although claims to have lost 75 pounds on the Jenny Craig plan, is a questionable choice at best for representing the program. Alley reports that when she started Jenny Craig, she weighed over 200 pounds, just how much over 200 is unclear. But if she has only lost 75 pounds, then there is no way she has reached the point of acceptability, 105.
Most likely as the result of it’s feminine origins, Jenny Craig is a program targeted toward the females of the species. Their literature is all clearly directed toward women, a fact I tried to imply through my awkward use of feminine pronouns earlier. Men will likely have a hard time adjusting to the estrogen party that is Jenny Craig, although I suppose it could be considered a good place to meet that someone who could be the one once she loses weight.
The food is pretty expensive, ranging from $85-$100 a week. Jenny Craig consultants push the food, as they get a commission on all sales. Some might consider it a small price to pay for weight loss, but it’s nowhere near as economical as buying a week’s supply of grapefruit.
Jenny Craig likes to brag about how they let their participants eat brownies. I’m immediately skeptical of any weight loss program that approves of brownies, the same way I feel about bacon prescription.
The plan allows for participants to eat non-Jenny Craig foods once they have reached the halfway point of their diet. This makes little sense. Why would they change a plan that is working? People who have only lost half the weight they should can hardly be trusted to make good decisions. It’s akin to making the dieter run the last 13.1 miles of a marathon backward, without the cardio.
The availability for the food to be delivered allows for sloth. The diet would undoubtedly be more effective if the food was placed in treetops or other hard to reach places.

Genevieve clearly thought enough of her diet to put her name on it. If you think enough of her diet to try it, I certainly won’t try to stop you. But I have to say that any weight loss organization that thinks being associated with Kirstie Alley is a good thing clearly has some screws loose.

Jackson

2007-03-07T22:09:00.001-08:00

Doubling down.

I should start off this post by saying that this post is not about Jackson, Mississippi. I’ve done enough belittling of large southerners recently, so I’ll try to secede from talking about them for a while. It will be tough, as omitting the south when writing about fat people is akin to omitting basketball when writing about Michael Jordan.

This post is titled “Jackson” for a far more amiable, pleasant reason. Today I recorded a weight of 184 pounds, which brings my total weight loss to 21 pounds, a new low by a margin of 2 pounds.

Having lost a Jackson, I am now charged with the task of finding a new Jackson. Not another bushel of fat cells, but rather a muse of sorts to help me through my next quintile of weight loss.

There are a ton of Jacksons to choose from, each of whom has his or her own strengths:

Phil, who is probably about 105, despite being 6’ 8’’.
Shar, who turned out to be the more stably thin of Kevin Federline’s two baby mamas.
Shoeless Joe, who risked calices for the reassurance that he would never accidentally leave his boots on while weighing in.

I could go on like this, giving choppy blurbs on these patron saints of the number twenty, but there are other Jacksons who deserve a more full evaluation:

Bo Jackson would be a good inspiration for me. Bo, who knows, was voted an all-star in both the NFL and Major League Baseball. By playing two professional sports at once, Bo burned twice as many calories as would the average professional athlete. If during the tournament this weekend I can add an all-star achievement in racquetball to my resume, then I will have dominated the fields of both racquetball and musical chairs, although only at a semi-professional level.

Or maybe I should look at Reggie Jackson, “Mr. October.” His clutch performances propelled the Yankees to victory year in and year out. Of course, this was before they were cursed with the girth of David Wells. Reggie knew how to perform best when it mattered most, a skill I could certainly benefit from as the tournament approaches, and the pressure to lose weight is perhaps greater than ever.

Michael Jackson, the “King of Pop,” may be able to help me become the “King of Diet Pop.” He has undergone some astounding transformations through his career. Next to his changes, I am certain that the mere loss of 100 pounds would be a piece of cake.

His sisters may be able to provide me with some help, but likely not during this next set of twenty pounds. I am not at a point yet where anyone will want to rip off my top like they would Janet’s, or at a point where I would be trusted to protect and serve the way La Toya has, through her dedication to the LAPD on Armed and Famous.

Jackson Browne, who has songs advocating starvation such as “Running on Empty” is not as superior an icon as some other Jacksons, although for those who are fasting, his lyrics could make a fitting anthem.

Whatever Jackson guides me through the next twenty pounds, I am certain he or she will do a phenomenal job. And if they do not, maybe I can channel a Grant, such as Amy or Hill, who can take me even further.

As far as milestones go, marking my twentieth pound lost seems relatively significant. It marks the loss of one-fifth of my projected 100 pounds, the fraction with the lowest denominator that I have been able to boast thus far.

And since I actually exceeded the twentieth pound by a bit, I also have lost more than 10% of my starting weight of 205, now that I’ve lost more than 20.5. These news items are all very exciting, and I plan to bask in the in the coming days.

But as basking burns very few calories, I cannot afford to rest on my laurels for any length of time. Congratulating myself for losing 20 pounds is truly damning with faint praise. I have lost about a third of a pound a day, which puts me on pace to have lost 100 in time for Christmas. 21% is certainly never a passing grade, no matter what the scale. I will continue to work toward Jackson Five (25), with all the resolve I have had previously. I just hope I don’t Stonewall any time soon.

Day 60: 184

Janssen

2007-03-06T13:43:00.001-08:00

The three minutes per day that ESPN devotes to the NHL these days have been filled with discussions of Cam Janssen. Janssen is an enforcer for the New Jersey Devils, a team that I have particular ire towards due to my Philadelphia Flyers loyalties. During a game Friday against the Toronto Maple Leafs, Janssen hit Tomas Kaberle away from the puck, decking Kaberle and giving him a concussion. The league suspended Janssen for three games, despite the fact that no penalty was called on the play.

While some have called Janssen a monster for what he did, I know he is merely misunderstood. For starters, he is listed at an overweight 210 pounds. Which means either that he is about 105 pounds overweight, or that his team inflated his weight on their roster. Whatver the reason, the world is now made to think that he weighs 210 pounds. I know if that anyone ever thought I weighed 210, I would feel like giving somebody a concussion.

Secondly, it is hard to get too angry at anyone who shares a name with a girl detective who has solved all sorts of mysteries throughout her series of books. Cam Jansen, the more famous of the two Cam J.’s, is likely the source of much envy from the Cam who wears skates. His anger management issues are totally understandable, given the inescapable shadow he will always live in because of that young redheaded sleuth.

Thirdly, despite the viciousness of the hit, it is unlikely that Kaberle will have any long term pain or suffering. Getting a concussion is par for the course when it comes to hockey. In fact, going to the hospital often has the positive side effect of weight loss. Kaberle, who is listed at a hardly svelte 198, is undoubtedly cherishing the opportunity to take some time off from work and come back thinner.

Lastly, just about any violent act is kosher when it comes to hockey. I know I’ve denounced those people who joke that they “went to a fight, and a hockey game broke out,” but they deserve some slack for recognizing the wonderfully unrestrained passion in hockey that materializes in aggression towards opponents. Hockey lacks the politesse of golf and the gallantry of polo. Which is what makes it so special. Ugly hits and fights happen all the time, even in the pregame skate during the conference finals (in Canada, no less, where everyone always gets along. The NHL’s lack of concern for the safety of its players is exactly what makes it work, and why more sports should be like hockey. I am certain that with a few well placed blindsiding checks, my odds of winning the upcoming racquetball tournament will improve drastically.

And I can parlay that reckless abandon into my weight loss efforts, with nary a thought of the well being of myself and others, I am certain that I would make tremendous progress. I have to be willing to be brutal to my blubber, showing it no mercy, attacking it from all directions, without warning or nourishment.

My vengeance against my rotundity has certainly been aided by Janssen’s example recently, helping me to regain my previous low weight of 186. With stories of his actions dominating the hockey media, I was inspired to lose 1.5 pounds in the last day. This jumpstart to my efforts to reach an acceptable playing weight in time for the tournament is certainly appreciated, and I am eternally grateful to Mr. Janssen for his noble work. Hopefully the world of professional hockey will continue to teach me, as well as the rest of North America, how to act without trepidation or fear of condemnation, values we can apply when it comes to our efforts to lose large amounts of weight. After all, almost everybody’s poundages could use the occasional obliteration.

Day 59: 186

Justin

2007-03-05T10:50:00.001-08:00

Please note the pretentiously extensive use of foreign words. I must be far more continental than I give myself credit for. And just for grins, let's call this entry a double. Haven't done that in a while.

After over a week of unofficial results and such, I know there has been a lot of speculation about what kind of weight I will be upon my return to the normal routine here in Ann Arbor. With baited breath you all have waited for weight. At least I hope.

Today I made my way to the gym for the first time since February 22nd. With the tournament coming up later in the week, I decided to hit around a ball in an empty court for a while by myself. Which I did. It wasn’t very interesting, and the ball was really flat. I only wish the same could be said for my stomach.

I then made my way to the good ol’ elliptical machine, and boarded it without incident. Then, over the sounds of whatever I was listening to on my iPod, I heard a faint, hollow, high pitched sound over the hum of the cardio machines. I glanced over with as much discretion as I could muster, and saw the guy on the next elliptical over singing along at a very audible volume, clearly not realizing the full extent of his volume because of the iPod earphones crammed in his ears. I turned off my iPod to listen more clearly, and identified a few strains from “Cry Me a River,” that number that Justin Timberlake did during the halftime show before he ripped off part of Janet Jackson’s bra.

I had to admire the guy’s unbridled enthusiasm and joie de vivre, to put it nicely. He wasn’t a horrendous singer, but he certainly wasn’t decent, either. With no one reacting visibly to his singing, likely because of their auditory isolation via iPod, he continued to get louder. With his curly hair flying every which direction under his bandana, he looked like Justin Guarini, one of those southern American Idol finalists. In other words, he looked absolutely ridiculous. He took his hand off the ski pole part of the elliptical to do that sort of self-conducting thing that Christina Aguilera wannabes do to try to do all sorts of coloratura that is best left to professionals.

My Justins doppelganger finished “Cry Me a River,” and drifted back into the silence one would expect of an ellipticaller. But a few minutes later, the gravelly strains of Macy Gray’s “I Try” echoed around the room. His rendition was muffled by the iPods of all but one other person in the room, a girl ellipticalling on a machine a few to my left. I kept trying to catch her eye with knowing glances, but never succeeded.

“Justin” was missing more and more notes this time around, as Macy Gray (as well as Justin Timberlake) is out of the range of any adult male who is not a castrato. The only common theme I could find in “Justin”’s song selection was that he seemed to lean toward artists who have Sideshow Bob hair, which I guess is as good a criterion as any.

Managing to repress my laughter until I left the room, I made my way to the locker room to evaluate the damage my slothful vacation had inflicted on my weight.

I was somewhat relieved to weigh in at 187.5 (sans asterix), which, while not my best, was a half-pound below my most recent official weigh in. I am not at my all-time low, and am certainly not trending downward at a satisfactory rate, but it could have been much worse.

For those of you who may worry that I have lost my resolve, not reacting disgustedly enough at this gargantuan weight, fear not. I may have gone soft in the belly, but that does not mean I have gone soft in the head. I will use this week of tournament preparations as a cram session, to try to gain as much momentum (in the way of weight loss) as I can. This week is crucial in not embarrassing myself during the competition. But even if I lose badly in the first round, I certainly will not have embarrassed myself as much as a certain aforementioned person did. Which is a nice consolation thought, just in case things don’t go as well as they could, and I wind up crying a river.

Day 58: 187.5

Weight Loss Icon: Sherman Klump / Buddy Love

2007-03-05T10:49:00.000-08:00

This week's honoree, earning the distinction of "Weight Loss Icon" is Sherman Klump, a.k.a. Buddy Love from The Nutty Professor, the second fictional character to earn this prestigious title.

Sherman Klump is a brilliant professor of chemistry or something at some university no one has ever heard of. He meets a woman whom he falls in love with, and vows to win her over. He recognizes that she will never find him attractive as long as he has the figure of a walrus. He concocts a potion to lose weight and make himself more attractive, tests it on mice, and drinks it.

And it works. Sherman loses hundreds of pounds in a matter of a minute or so. Sherman transforms into "Buddy Love," a lean, mean, sex machine, who is lecherous and rude. But he is thin. And still brilliant, apparently, as he goes on a shopping spree and buys nothing but spandex. He may have lost some of his chemistry know-how, but anyone who knows the value of a good catsuit [WARNING: LINK CONTAINS PICTURE OF JOAKIM NOAH] still has a lot of brains.

Overwhelmed by Buddy's brash savoir faire, Sherman becomes jealous of his alter ego. He worries that Buddy's testosterone level is increasing too rapidly, which just shows that skinniness is one of the most masculine traits imaginable. Eventually, Sherman loses the struggle and reverts to his fat self, making the movie one of the most heart-wrenching tragedies of the twentieth century. The same thing happens again in Nutty Professor II: The Klumps, and will happen again if Nutty Professor III: Still Yo-yoing.

The Nutty Professor was ranked #70 on the top 100 funniest movies or something like that. This was do in large part due to the fact that it was hilarious that Eddie Murphy would choose to look fat on camera on purpose. Eddie Murphy was not given an Oscar nomination for the role, however. The academy waited to give him the honor until he portrayed a character in Dreamgirls that stayed an acceptable weight for the entirety of the film.

For his ability to lose weight by drinking a potion (a sort of liquid diet on steroids, if you will), Sherman Klump is a Weight Loss Icon of enormous proportions. While he may have re-inflated at the end of the movie, his ability to drop Benjamins simply by chugging a beaker is awe inspiring.

The Final Countdown

2007-03-04T21:05:00.000-08:00

Seven days from today, I plan to walk away with hardware after triumphing in the University of Michigan Intramural Racquetball Singles Tournament. I’ve only been playing racquetball since September 2005, but I am confident that the 15-20 pounds I’ve lost thus far, I will be able to easily dismantle any opponent heavier than I, a demographic which has grown significantly in the last 56 days.

Preparing for a racquetball tournament should be easy enough. All I need to do is lose a lot of weight so that more of my opponents are heavier than I. This is what being an athlete is about, after all. And as an added bonus, I will likely lose weight through the early rounds of the tournament (if I break a sweat, that is). So as my opponents get better (thinner), I will be getting better (thinner).

Before I win the trophy, I have to decide what I want the inscription on my trophy to be. I have to choose between being in the upper echelon ‘A’ division or the fat camp reunion that the ‘B’ division is bound to be. I have to decide whether it is better to be wowed by the prowess of the thin, or beat up on the more ample. The former would be a great opportunity to be exposed to the success the thin can have so easily, while the latter would be like taking candy from a baby who has already had too much candy.

I think I will do ‘B’ division. I am decent, but still too portly and inexperience to defeat the best of the best at racquetball, which requires a skill set quite divergent from my previous conquest—musical chairs. To give myself a backhanded insult, I would say that my style of play is a little too cerebral to work in racquetball. I play sort of a Chris Evert style of racquetball, relying on spin, drop shots, and all other sorts of strategy. Playing tennis for some odd years, I came to rely on making my opponent beat themselves, by hitting the ball in such a way as to force unforced errors. People who managed to lose to me left the court feeling terrible about themselves, often muttering things like “I’m never going to play tennis again.” It’s a compliment too perfect to even dream of receiving.

But racquetball is an ugly game. Those who are great at it are incredibly boring to watch, as their points last an average of three seconds. And it is very possible to never move in racquetball, as the ball bounces right back to the large object in the middle, like an errant shot in Spaced Penguin.

Instead of playing on the sweeping lawns of Wimbledon, racquetball players battle in sweaty little boxes that smell like expired yogurt. Martina Navratilova, who incidentally looks an awful lot like John Denver, bemoaned the fact that tennis was becoming too much like racquetball, inferring that it become the sport of brutes, not royalty. I don’t know exactly how to react to this sentiment, but if it means that tennis is becoming less weighted against the overly weighted, it is a certainly not a good thing.

I don’t know what my weight is today, as I got back to Ann Arbor too late to weigh myself. I will have to lose about twenty more pounds before Friday’s first round if I want to stand atop the podium Sunday. If for no other reason, those podiums never look very sturdy.

Day 57: ?

Weight Training

2007-02-28T11:43:00.001-08:00

Living in America's wonderful East Coast megalopolis provides the opportunity for effortless travel up and down the Atlantic seaboard, through some of the most exciting, bustling, and important cities that North America has to offer. Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C. are lined up in a neat single file line of urban sprawl. Since the distances don’t justify flying, the two main modes of transportation are car and train. And since driving inevitably involves the Jersey Turnpike, the train is an incredibly appealing option.

Trains, for those of you unacquainted with this largely invisible mode of transportation, still exist. Commuter trains in varying degrees of fanciness sweep up and down the Boston-Washington route several times an hour, whisking grounded passengers to and from the nation’s capitals of government, finance, baked beans, and cream cheese.

With all the whining about how stressful and uncomfortable air travel is these days, trains are being seen more and more as a better option. Trains are more comfortable, do not require taking off shoes before boarding, can run in fog, and never require their passengers to put on their own oxygen masks before assisting other.

As if that’s not enough, trains also are better for those who are looking to lose weight. Trains allow passengers to walk about the cars freely. Those so inclined can jog lengths of the train from end to end while calculating vectors about what speed they’re moving. A train will not have a concession cart that wheels down the aisle forcing caloric beverages and salty snacks upon it’s passengers. The only concession cart I have ever heard of on a train is on the Hogwarts Express, and that serves food that barely sounds edible, such as vomit-flavored jelly beans. And as a result of the inedibility of these snacks, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and just about everyone else in the Harry Potter series is wonderfully thin. That kind of aversion training truly is magical.

All of these wonderful elements of the train experience will come together for me tomorrow, as I travel to New Haven to visit friends at Yale. Yale will likely be a little different than my populous Midwestern public school, but I am familiar with the workings of institutions of East Coast elitism, and should have no problem adjusting.

No posts until Sunday, when our hero returns to Ann Arbor. As hard as getting by during my absence may be, rest assured that the world is safe, as I weighed in at 184*. I had actually weighed in at 186, sat around watching MTV for a couple hours, then got back on the scale and scored a 184. The only thing I can figure is that I lost the weight in brain cells.

Day 53: 184*

Widescreen

2007-02-27T19:52:00.000-08:00

My new computer, good ol’ Lumpy, is what the industry folks call a “widescreen.” It has something to do with aspect ratio, which I know a little about, but not a whole lot. I do know that stretching out an image in all sorts of directions can detract from the artistic value of any photograph, image, or collage. A bad aspect ratio can make people look ridiculously out of proportion, like a funhouse mirror. I never understood why funhouse mirrors were named so. They aren’t in a house, nor are they any fun. Either they make the people who attend carnivals look fatter than they already are, or they make people look thinner for a fleeting moment. Illusions in mirrors can be flattering, but they don’t last long enough to make people think better of us for long enough to make any permanent difference in our lives.

I don’t understand why widescreen is the new big thing in electronics today. Flatscreens I understand, as no one wants their television to look like a distended beer belly. But widescreen boggles my mind. Before it was around, people already said that the camera added ten pounds. This notion allegedly motivated Karen Carpenter to become such an icon to those looking to lose triple-digit poundage, such as myself. With the original ten pounds, it’s inconceivable why anyone would want to stretch out anyone’s girth further with an aspect ratio that would make Urkel an ectomorph?

The opposite of widescreen, narrowscreen, is likely to catch on any day now. Instead of making the thin look pudgy, it would make the pudgy look thin. What could be better than that? Aside from that, a narrowscreen would reduce the amount of scrolling needed to read websites such as this piece of scripture right here. The text portion of LaB has always been wonderfully slender, and if life imitates art, someday I’ll be wonderfully slender too.

The scale that dare not speak reality doesn’t seem to have any appreciation for art. It remained at 185*, which is a nice number, but not something I have any faith in. Even without a reliable measurement of my progress, I vow to continue to work hard to lose lard, lest I become a Deluxe Widescreen version of myself, loaded with special features including repulsiveness and alienation.

Day 52: 185*

Little Things That Add Up to Subtraction

2007-02-26T21:28:00.001-08:00

Disclaimer: The following entry has been described as “graphic,” “gross,” and “ew.” But the truth of the matter is that being ~80 pounds away from a goal weight, as I am, has been described as “graphic,” gross,” and “ew.” I have too much respect for my readers to not tell them the truth. The truth may not be pretty, but it is all you will find in this gospel. I pledge never to blow sunshine up the asses of my readers. With an ass full of sunshine, you would all likely look puffy and bloated, if not radiant.

As I have painfully found out over the past 51 days, weight loss does not come as quickly or easily as it should. While it would be nice if fat could be tapped and emptied like a keg, the reality is that losing weight is a slow, arduous, and tedious process. Barring major surgery, losing weight is not a quick or visible process. Unless, of course, you heed my advice. I’ve decided to give back to humankind by tithing from my wealth of knowledge. Below are some quick fixes for weight loss that are guaranteed to get results. If followed, these methods will yield a net loss of poundage, guaranteed. The suggestions may seem simple, but they are surprisingly effective, easy, and fun.

Trim fingernails and toenails. Biting is allowed as a substitution, as long as nails are not swallowed. If you are lucky enough to find any dirt or other substance beneath your nails, vigorously pillage with a suitable object until any residual gook is removed.
Get a haircut. Be as extreme as you want to be. Britney Spears, clearly wanting to jumpstart her stalling career, decided to get a new coif that many never would have anticipated. Overwhelmed with jealousy, the news media was left with no choice but to chastise Britney, who was indisputably lighter after her shearing. I’ve heard that some people opt to cut off most of their hair and donate it to charity. I tried this once, but most of it didn’t fit into my UNICEF box.
Tweeze out any splinters you may have.
Shave off any facial hair. This tip is especially prudent if you are sporting a handlebar mustache, goatee, one of those deals where you have a mustache and beard but no hair under your mouth, or a Hitler mustache. This advice should be used by members of ZZ Top in order to garner the type of attention and adoration Britney has garnered of recent. People will tell you that you look younger, which is always a nicer thing to hear than people telling you that you have some superfluous weight hanging off your face.
Give blood.
Use a Q-tip. You will be amazed what golden morsels of weight you can dig out.
Remove nail polish.
Blow your nose.
Floss, or brush teeth with an ascerbic toothpaste. Use of a tongue scraper is also recommended. If you don’t have a tongue scraper, this device can easily be imitated by something like one of those green plastic toy soldiers or just about anything else with an edge that you can fit in your mouth.
Wax off any unnecessary body hair. Legs, arms, underarms, backs, chests, and anything else with follicles is fair game. From what I read, waxing is most effective at reducing weight when administered in São Paulo or Rio de Janeiro. And Brazilians seem to be relatively thin, as a people. They're not quite on the level of a Japan or an Ethiopia, but they’re good.
Sob uncontrollably.
Have your wisdom teeth (and any other teeth you’re tired of) pulled.
Spit.
Remove any dead skin, corns, bunions, or other nastiness from your feet.
Pop pimples.
Have an appendectomy. The only thing anyone’s appendix ever did for them was burst.
Have a splenectomy. The only thing anyone’s spleen ever did for them was rupture.
Get any warts or moles removed.
Exfoliate. I’m not entirely sure I know what this means, but I’m told it would result in a loss of weight.
Donate a kidney—you have a spare.
Use the facilities, the latrine, the water closet, the john, or whatever other euphemism you use to relieve yourself.
Apply leeches liberally. This is known to some as “SLOMming,” which is apparently a cool new alternative to smoking.
Pluck your eyebrows. If this leaves you unsatisfied, you could shave them off completely, as Whoopi Goldberg did. With her career declining, she may want to think about removing her eyelashes, too. Every little bit helps.
Remove any prostheses. This includes the obvious artificial limbs, as well as press-on nails, hair extensions, toupees, dentures, fake eyelashes, or gold teeth.
Consider having your pacemaker removed. If you just bring an automatic external defibrillator wherever you go instead, your weight will decrease and you’ll burn calories by carrying it around all day. If that’s not enough to convince you, know that the portable case will tie together any outfit.

After digesting all these golden nuggets, you may be wondering how much of an authority on weight loss I really am, as I still am a long way away from my target of 105. But I can tell you that I have made quite a bit of progress recently. Perhaps those who teach, can. According to the scale I don’t trust, I lost three pounds today, to drop to 185*. That change in pounds over twenty-four hours of sitting around watching television is ludicrous, but a good kind of ludicrous, so I’m not going to complain.

Day 51: 185*

Haunted House

2007-02-25T01:56:00.001-08:00

Note: There will be no Weight Loss Icon or Diet Spotlight this week, as I am on vacation and do not feel like doing the days of research such endeavors entail. Deal with it.

Coming home from college comes with a few inevitable inundations. Cascades of memories, home-cooked foods, and laundry are all par for the course. For someone like me, whose bedroom is scattered with remnants of all sorts of things from my past, coming home gives the opportunity for some casual archeology.

Following the law of superposition, the deeper I dug, the older were the artifacts I found. I found a lot of old school stuff and some useless stuff that I probably won’t ever throw away. I found a lot of coins, including a Sacajawea. This was heartening, because I realized that no matter how miserably my attempt to lose 100 pounds fails, it will not be nearly as catastrophic as the disaster that was the Sacajawea coin.

Sweeping debris off my desk, I came upon my old learner’s permit that I had gotten in 2003. I realized I probably should have destroyed it or handed it in or something like that, because it could be used as false identification for someone who wanted to defraud his or her parents by having a sweet sixteen party early.

But what frightened me more than having an expired piece of plastic in my possession was what this learner’s permit had to say. Four years ago, at the same height, I listed my weight 165 pounds. I am confident that this weight was accurate, as I had the cajones to list the weight on my most recent driver’s license at 195, which I believe was accurate then. And if I was willing to incur the unpublished tax increases the government would punish me with for being ninety pounds overweight, I’m sure I would have been ready to face the federal penalty for being sixty pounds overweight.

I don’t know how to feel about this horrible reminder of how I’ve thrown myself into obesity over these past four years. The damage I’ve done to myself in four years is almost on the level of the damage that a certain leader of this country was able to do in four year terms. I’ve made unauthorized incursions into hostile waist sizes. I have stuck with the same vice (gluttony), which has likely led people to discuss my impending cardiovascular troubles, as well as desires to hide me from public view. And there have certainly been negative consequences to my eating pretzels.

I suppose I could take this reminder that I weighed 165 four years ago as encouraging. It does mean that I did at one point weigh forty pounds less than I did on Day 1 of this endeavor, and shows that I was not simply a 205-pound infant. But it does also say that even when I was far skinnier four years ago, I was still 60 pounds overweight. I can certainly look forward to returning to 165 pounds, as that milestone will mark the undoing of four years of self-abuse. But I also should hasten to remind myself that should not be a point to become complacent, because I will be only 40% done. And that is certainly not a passing grade in any class I take.

As I said a couple of days ago, I am putting absolutely no credence in the numbers I get from this scale at home. It’s digital, which I suppose is a nice upgrade from my scale in Michigan, which exhibits all the technology of a slide rule. But I cannot allow myself to be measured in more than one fashion. As Segal’s Law states, “A man with a watch knows what time it is. A man with two watches is never sure.”

Or, adapted into Ben’s Law: “A man with two scales is never sure just how fat he is. But if both scales give a reading over 105 pounds, the man is well-advised to get off the scales and onto a treadmill.”

Day 50: 188*

When Pigs Fly

2007-02-23T01:29:00.001-08:00

Traveling home for spring break means going to the airport. And going to the airport in America today means one thing: Cinnabon. Cinnabon, which is found in just about every airport in America, provides its customers with gooey vortexes of cinnamon, sugar, icing, and dough.

Unfortunately, the otherwise very nice McNamara Terminal of Detroit Metro Airport lacks the essential Cinnabon. So I settled for Taco Bell, which is hardly a step down. I order a third of what used to be my usual, showing just how much more economic it can be to eat less.

For all the things which are objectionable about air travel today (such as the ban on liquids which can undermine certain diets), the airline industry has some instituted some very praiseworthy rules and regulations. The foremost of these is the rule that passengers over a certain width have to pay for two seats. This rule gives those who may not otherwise realize that they should lose weight an economic incentive to do so. It also eliminates the possibility of sitting between two people whose combined weight equals 747.

While charging the girthy for two seats is a healthy first step, certainly the airlines can do more. While they already have begun charging for even the most meager snack foods, they should begin charging for any soft drink that contains calories, or perhaps even banning all foodstuffs except celery. They could require that if so wished by fellow passengers, a person of excessive girth is to cloak him or herself in one of those small blankets they used to make more readily available. Airlines could also force passengers to cram themselves into a box slightly larger than a carry-on size box before being allowed to check in. Passengers with an area greater than this could be required to pay an extra fee, or perhaps could be delegated to Greyhound.

Flying with passengers as obese as I’ve been told modern Americans are is certainly a scary proposition. It makes no sense how a metal container filled with such dense matter can defy gravity in the fluky way planes do every day. There is not even a check to make sure that the port and starboard sides of the fuselage are equally burdened with leadenly overweight passengers. Clearly aerospace engineers have never seen a see-saw.

This whole scenario seems doomed for imminent disaster once the gravitational pull of the Earth meets with its supervisor and gets terrible marks for failing to bring down these aircrafts. The whole situation is far more frightening than an out break of snakes. Mark my words, “Fatties on a Plane” will terrify audiences in ways they never could have imagined. The only question is, what crusader of Samuel L. Jackson caliber should we charge with the task of saving us? To me, fat-hater Richard Simmons seems an obvious pick. Only a man with that exact combination of perming and sequins can save humanity from this inevitable catastrophe.

Now that I've flown home, I am in Washington until Sunday, March 4, and will not have any access to my usual scale. There is a scale here that I will use to check in with daily, but I have absolutely no faith in it, and it’s results will be met with the kind of skepticism and disdain embodied in that Roger Maris asterisk. Even if my results are stellar, I will hardly bat an eyelash. Unless, of course, batting eyelashes makes them fall out, resulting in weight loss. Then I will bat as fiercely as I can.

Day 48: 185.5*

Self-Editing

2007-02-22T11:24:00.001-08:00

As previously mentioned, I am taking a creative writing class this semester with an emphasis on poetry. It hasn’t been easy, but the poetry portion of the class is coming to an end, which should make it better. As the culmination of this, I have to edit whichever work I consider my best into a portfolio.

Editing one’s own work is not ever easy or fun, but it is something everyone needs to learn how to do all should learn how to do effectively and well. The ability to self-perfect is a necessity in our society.

The red ink can also be carried over to endeavors far more important than improving poetry. By this, I of course mean that red ink can be used for self improvement. The good doctors of McNamara/Troy use their red pen to mark diagrams representing all the parts of their patients that could use improvement. After condemning the unacceptable parts with red slashes, they go to work and Nip/Tuck the patient one step closer to goodness. If I had gone in for a consultation before I started this whole shebang, I know that my little piece of paper would simply read “-100.”

The slashing and burning needed to cut the fat out of a poem is a lot less clear cut than the slashing and burning needed to cut the fat out of a person. But both editing processes can be guided by the discovery of glaring anomalies. Finding these errors can be scary, but it’s certainly better than not knowing they’re there. I suggest regular rereading of one’s weight via a scale in order to discern such typos in poundage.

Tragically, I encountered a major misprint on the scale this afternoon. Weighing in after a delightful new low of 186 yesterday, I stepped on the scale before my workout and saw a horribly misspelled 190. I checked a couple times to make sure it wasn’t an error, which has been the case previously. And every time I was horrified to see my weight remain at 190.

I managed to rephrase my weight to 188 by the end of my workout, but still, it was a traumatizing experience, to have to read between the lines of 189 and 191.

Day 47: 188

100100100100100100100100100100100100100100100100100100100

Although the editing experience was not fun, what was even less fun was picking out which of the poems I’d written to include in the portfolio. It was like choosing between children—children whom I equally disliked.

But now I have a chance to pick between some offspring I can tolerate. I have found an opportunity to create a small portfolio of a far better kind, by choosing selected pearls of wisdom from this thing I call “Losing a Benjamin.” I need to choose two daily logs, one “Weight Loss Icon” piece, and one “Diet Spotlight.”

But not wanting to make a choice like Sophie, I am going to leave the nomination of these pieces up to you, my beloved readers. Just leave a comment for which ones you think are best. This is a small donation to ask, as this religious text is completely free for your enjoyment whenever you please. That’s all the guilting for now.

Diet Spotlight: Vegetarianism

2007-02-22T11:23:00.001-08:00

Today’s diet spotlight focuses on one of the most well known diets around the world: vegetarianism. Vegetarianism has been around for centuries, and is even incorporated into the belief systems of many religions. It is one of the few diets that has achieved this status of sacredness, although my sources tell me that Scientology and Atkins are likely to strike a deal any day now.

Vegetarianism’s main rule is that the consumption of animals is forbidden. This rule is seen by vague by many, who see vegetarianism in very diverse ways, like a Rorschach test.

Some believe that only food that felt pain when killed should be avoided, a policy which allows for fish, as Elaine would be quick to state, as they don’t feel pain. This can be seen as splitting hairs, and liberals would also cite lookism, as many land-dwelling animals are significantly cuter than fish. Eating something cute can make you sad, as evidenced by my abstaining from Teddy Grahams.

Others believe that dead animals are not to be eaten, but any of their products are fair game. These people are often referred to as ovo-lacto vegetarians, and they reportedly make up the largest percentage of vegetarians in the United States of America. It is not known how large the overlap is between those who are against the eating of eggs and those who are against abortion, although I would presume that the two circles in that Venn diagram are nearly the same.

Then there are vegans, who do not eat any animal products, including any dairy or egg products. They therefore are prone to protein deficiencies, excessive feelings of self-righteousness, and thick promulgations of bumper stickers.

There are also people more extreme than the above mentioned, such as people who only eat raw foods, or people who don’t eat foods that kill the plant that yields it. These people confuse and scare me, and I don’t want to talk about them anymore.

One of the main claims made by those vegetarians who push the practice onto others is that vegetarianism is healthier than other eating practices. Since “healthy” is synonymous with “will cause weight loss,” vegetarianism is employed by many a fat person with hopes and dreams of fitting into society and their jeans. But does it work?

Sure it does…

Most would agree that the diet is nice to animals. Cows will moo at you melodically, chickens will cluck chirpily, and cute little bunnies will cuddle up to you and want to be petted.
For menu items in which meat is extra, such as chicken on a Caesar salad, vegetarianism saves you green by leaving you with only greens.
Animal products contain far more fat and cholesterol than do plants. Anyone will tell you that a stalk of celery does a lot more for your cardiovascular health than does a ham and cheese omelet.
Food borne illnesses are largely localized to animal products, especially meat. By not eating animal products, you’ll avoid such nastinesses as mad cow disease, E. coli and salmonella.
Plant foods digest more fully than do meat and other animal products. This will result in more complete passage of what you eat, and (ahem) fuller bowel movements.
Not eating meat means you will never have to eat anything with bones. And eating off bones is a serious pain. Even before I embarked on this quest, I would never eat fried chicken because of the hassle of the bones. Bones can be quite obvious, but they can also sneak up on you in fish, which is always an unpleasant surprise.
Ordering from restaurant menus and as other culinary choices are greatly simplified by restrictions on meats. With items containing meat ruled out, options are fewer, leading to lower amounts of head-scratching over what to order, as well as less buyers remorse.
As well as narrowing down the options available on a menu, a vegetarian order never has to specify whether rare or medium-well is desired. Saying how well you want a burger or something cooked is always a crapshoot, as pinkness is in the eye of the beholder.
As a vegetarian, you are immune from those guilt trips vegetarians are so wont to force upon their carnivorous friends.
As a vegetarian, you get to do said guilt trips on your carnivorous friends. You can go on and on about how many innocent lives were ended in order to fill that KFC bucket an unsuspecting eater had previously enjoying. It’s a lot of fun, and very arguable that making a person who is eating fast food lose his appetite is a noble cause.
If you tell the airline in advance, you get to enjoy lasagna aboard the few flights on which food is still served. While others poke at rubbery cod, you get to enjoy your vegetarian lasagna. For some reason, the vegetarian meal on planes is always lasagna. So if you like lasagna, you’re in for a treat. If you don’t like lasagna, you get to skip a meal. Talk about a win-win situation.

Despite the availability of lasagna, there are reasons not to choose vegetarianism:

Most carnivores would agree that meat tastes good. Luxuries such as filet mignon, lobster, and chicken quesadillas from Taco Bell are off-limits for vegetarians.
The practice is very stigmatized by almost all humankind, which does not appreciate its place atop the food chain being neglected by vegetarians. This kind of sass is materialized in bumper stickers that say things such as “‘vegetarian’ is an old Indian word meaning ‘poor hunter.’” These bumper stickers and other snide remarks referring to the hippie-ness of your vegetarianism could cause a crisis of faith in even the most ardent vegetarian.
Coming out of the closet as a vegetarian could be potentially humiliating. Telling someone you’ve become a vegetarian could end friendships, or, at best, result in a complete lost of trust.
Meat and animal products are hidden in all sorts of things. From pepperoni under the cheese of pizza, to the ground animal bone used in gummy bears, gelatin, Oreos and Skittles. Searching out these hidden morsels of animal leads to unpleasant realizations about just how omnipresent animal products are.
Vegetarians never get the fun of trying to figure out what mystery meat may be. The only brain teaser’s they are allowed to do is sudoku.
Vegetarians often wind up settling for meat imitations, such as veggie burgers and hot dogs. Tofu, the most common meat replacement, is considered icky and bad tasting by many people, most of whom have never tried it. And even if pasta with meatless balls tastes the same if you close your eyes, ain’t nothin’ like the real thing, baby.
Ordering from restaurant menus and as other culinary choices are greatly restricted by restrictions on meats. Vegetarians may be relegated to salads in a restaurant with few vegetarian options, which sucks because salads are hardly edible. And when eating in a friend’s home, special arrangements have to be made for you. The host is left with two options: he can either make special dishes just for you, or not extend an invitation. I know I’d choose the alternative that entailed less cooking.
Food borne illnesses are largely localized to animal products, especially meat. By not eating animal products, you’ll avoid such nastinesses as mad cow disease, E. coli and salmonella. This excludes you from the possibility of massive weight loss that could easily result from contracting such a contaminant. You won’t find such pearls of weight loss opportunity if you’re not eating oysters.
Vigilant watchdogs, of carni-, omni-, and herbivorous varieties, will be looking to jump all over you for any perceived hypocrisies. Vegans will ask you why you still endorse the exploitation of animals, and if you choose to eat fish, explanations will be demanded. Because of your declared vegetarianism, you will be interrogated about why there is fur lining on the inside of your snow boots, leather seats in your car, and ivory keys on the piano at the church you attend. People will take any opportunity to criticize your vegetarianism, if for no other reason than that they have nothing better to do. The scrutiny can be draining, but it could drain you of weight as well.

I realize that this diet spotlight is longer than the average, but it is for a good reason. Starting on Ash Wednesday, I gave up meat for Lent. I already tried this once in September as part of “VegMonth,” and I believe it lead to a nice chunk of lost chunk without a great deal of effort. I even attempted a “Vegan Challenge Week” during VegMonth, although that effort failed after two days, when I realized that veganism is not the least bit fun.

So I will give this “VegLent” a shot. I do intend to loosen the abstinence over my spring break, because vacation is not a time for restrictions. I don’t know if VegLent will reach completion, but if it does I better be as light as a basket of Easter grass at the end.

The Body of an Athlete

2007-02-21T20:08:00.000-08:00

As I have talked about previously, there are clearly advantages to being thin in every walk of life. Competitive sports are no different. Those who are thin are more successful. I’ve already cited examples of this phenomenon, including Daniela Hantuchova and Sasha Cohen.

Smaller athletes are better athletes. From jockeys to trapeze artists, from coxswains to cheerleaders, the best athletes weigh about as much as the Olympic gold medal.

It is almost tragic how those larger individuals attempt to compete with athletes half their size and with twice their potential. The only sport which fully recognizes the perhaps unfair advantage had by lighter competitors is wrestling, which divides its participants into weight classes to keep the slender from humiliating the obese.

Even the one field you would assume the overweight would be most dominant in is ruled by the thin. Kobayashi has dominated the competitive eating circuits for years, despite being a smaller than average person, beginning his competitive career weighing only 110 pounds, only five pounds short of an acceptable weight. It’s just sad that the big eaters aren’t even the best eaters. It’s like when landlocked Switzerland won the America’s Cup for sailing. You can admire the winner, but you really wonder about the quality of the competition.

But more and more today, individuals who are unfit to do any sort of strenuous activity are participating in sports. David Wells, whore of the AL East, has managed to stay competitive in baseball despite barely being able to run to first base. John Daly, despite being a morbidly obese drunk, has won two major championships. The facts that on a given day, David Wells could beat Randy Johnson, and John Daly could beat Michelle Wie, demonstrate how baseball and golf aren’t real sports.

Perhaps these big lugs should be pitied. After all, linebackers are so named because they were in the back of the line evolutionarily. Is it their fault that they were lured to Sbarro when they should have been lured to a stationary bike?

Yes.

As for my self, I would consider myself sort of a middle line backer these days. I am a disgusting 186 pounds, although that's a nice little half-pound below yesterday, so I'm getting somewhere. It may be first down and 81 , but it’s probably still the first quarter. Which may be more time left on the clock than I have patience for, but I don’t really have much of a choice.

Day 46: 186

Fat Tuesday

2007-02-20T13:40:00.001-08:00

Today is Fat Tuesday. As the name suggests, it is a day filled with low self-esteem and poor decision making, both of which are documented by the good folks over at Girls Gone Wild.

It’s no coincidence that Fat Tuesday is followed by Ash Wednesday. Fat always leads to death. It is unlikely, however, that a fat person will be cremated, as there are usually not ovens large enough. An unpleasant thought, I know, but unpleasant thoughts often result from thinking of the overweight.

Most of the festivities take place in Louisiana, which, as I've already discussed, is one of the fatter states in the union. This unfortunate fact requires distributors of the treasured beadwork to have some discretion in distribution. One errant toss could result in being scarred for life by a sight best left on the cutting room floor over at Girls Gone Wild.

What’s even more surprising than the fact that a fat state being the host of a successful annual event how envious the slightly less fat states are. Alabama, the second fattest state, has tried to pass itself off as the real home of Mardi Gras. When I was in the National Geography Bee, the Alabama state champion handed all the other kids brochures about how Mobile, Alabama was the true home of Mardi Gras. The fact that Alabama is so lazy as to not even create its own holiday for celebrating fat is pretty pathetic.

My own Tuesday wasn’t particularly fat, as I remained at 186.5. Then again, until I finish losing this 100 pounds, every day of the week will be a fat one for me. My calendar is filled with fat days, fat hours, fat minutes, and fat seconds. So this “Fat Tuesday” is no red letter date in my calendar. But I do eagerly await the next wave of infomercials for Girls Gone Wild.

Day 45: 186.5

Anniversary Party

2007-02-19T19:24:00.001-08:00

Today is the forty-fourth day of my documented attempt to lose a Benjamin, and I feel like celebrating. Why not? The milestones designated as important in our modern society exhibit what I believe mathematically inclined sociologists would call “decimism,” that is, the discrimination against certain numbers due to a system of counting by tens. Our decimal system, which is based on our having ten digits, puts an undue amount of focus on numbers such as 10, 50, and 100.

If we humans had eleven digits, then this forty-fourth day would signify the end of the fourth unit of days. Even aside from that, forty-four is a pretty cool number. It is the difference between the square of twelve and the square of ten. It kind of looks like pine trees. It represents the average amount of keys each person in a piano duet is responsible for.

Anniversaries in conventional society are given a lot of attention, but not necessarily a lot of attention. Emily Post and other people with a lot of free time to do such things have devised a list of what gift is appropriate for various anniversaries deemed appropriate by the decimist system. The gifts are quite underwhelming. The first year is commemorated with paper. Those who are actually cheap enough to give a gift of paper on the first anniversary best give Charmin, as your relationship is clearly headed straight for the toilet.

Diamonds are not given ‘til one’s seventy-fifth anniversary. This late date is clearly designed to give spouses ample opportunity to die before they are obligated to fork over the money to Ronnie Mervis or whoever else. In the case that a couple lasts beyond the seventy-fifth anniversary, the eightieth anniversary is reserved for gifts of oak, so that the two love birds can buy each other caskets.

Some may not wish to commemorate anniversaries at all. I would be willing to bet that Lindsay Jacobellis is not lighting a candle to mark the anniversary of her blowing a gimme gold medal.

Anniversaries can also remind of us of just how little we’ve done in a given amount of time. I can cry all I want about not having made more significant progress toward my goal of 105 so far. And maybe I should, because crying could be a good weigh to drop some weight from my tear ducts.

But I do have some reason to celebrate here on Day 44. I weighed in at a new low of 186.5 pounds, a new low weight. I will not get caught up doing the sorts of celebratory things that could sabotage my progress. I need to recognize that there is no cause for significant revelry until I lose my hundredth pound and tip the scales to 105. Intermediary achievements are all well and good, but I have to keep my eyes on the prize in order to downsize my thighs.

Day 44: 186.5

Weight Loss Icon: Star Jones Reynolds

2007-02-19T19:23:00.001-08:00

This week’s weight loss honoree is somewhat of a martyr in the eyes of those worshipping at the altars of successful dieters. Star Jones Reynolds, former co-host of The View, was fired from her position as the shows token fat black anchor because she failed to fulfill the fat clause in her contract after losing a significant amount of weight.

Saying that she wanted to weigh less than her husband by the time of her nuptials, Star started to lose significant amounts of weight very quickly. Why this was so important to her is not entirely clear, as her husband is attracted to men, and not women of any size. This was evidenced by the fact that in a segment on The View, a forensics expert found another man’s semen on her fiancé’s gym shorts. It was an awkward moment for all involved, to say the least.

Ironically, her weight loss hurt her popularity. Once comfortable with the Star’s gluttony, her viewers and co-hosts alike were stunned to feel jealousy toward this woman whom they had always thought of as a mere pile of blubber whose size was anything but mere. Someone like Elisabeth Hasselbeck, who herself is an example of a successful weight loss method, must have been surprised and threatened by her co-star who she shared the screen with. Whereas before Elisabeth may have had the screen to herself, she and Star could now fit into one frame, diminishing her spotlight.

Once annoying but chubby and therefore dismissible, Star fell out of public favor once she reached an acceptable weight. Instead of watching her neck fat jiggle with every vibration of her larynx, people listened when she spoke. And they didn’t like what they heard. Once she lost weight, Star gained an arrogance and conceit that became unbearable. She also was evasive and dishonest about the way in which she lost such as significant amount of weight so quickly, denying having ever had any sort of gastric bypass or other surgery to aide and abet her weight loss.

While her appearance had become more attractive, the lying was very unbecoming. Focus groups found Star to be “untrustworthy,” leading to her canning by Barbara Walters and ABC in the summer of 2006.

Star really hasn’t done anything of note since leaving the View. This is, of course, because being thin can be a full-time occupation, one far more worthwhile than the charitable foundations so many celebrities. Star is still married to that gay guy, for reasons that are clear to neither of them.

In the interest of complete disclosure, I must say that Ms. Jones Reynolds is not quite one of my favorite television personalities, as is probably evident from the general tone of this “Weight Loss Icon” ode. I also must add that may people think she looked much better, or at least less disturbing, when she weighed more. As Star lost weight, her skin became incredibly saggy and stretchy, reminding us of horrible things like Star War Episode I: The Phantom Menace. What a terrible movie.

Regardless of how I may feel about her, Star is a wonderful example of how a person can shed that “chubby and affable” label and become neither lovable nor affable minus poundage. For those of you who may worry that your own weight loss will lead to the same sort of ostracizing Star faced, please note that this example of weight loss comes with the same disclaimer all weight loss information does: “results not typical.”

Year of the Pig

2007-02-18T21:13:00.001-08:00

Today marks the beginning of the Chinese New Year. The Chinese calendar lists this year, 2007, as 4704, as their civilization and time keeping predates that of western culture by thousands of years. This may seem impressive, and even a possible source of envy for us westerners. But once I realized that Casino Royale comes out on DVD here in '007, and there in '705. So our calendar is clearly way way cooler.

4705 is the the year of the pig in the Chinese zodiac system. The pig comes last in the cycle of zodiac animals, because, according to legend, the fatass pig came in last in a race of the twelve animals. It is not clear why the powers that be over in China decided that one-in-twelve babies born in China deserve to be under the sign of such an unimpressive animal, especially since those one-in-twelve Chinese babies make up about 2% of the world's population. That's a lot of pigs to have running around the globe, being fat and sloppy.

Anecdotal evidence of whether those born under the sign of the pig are fatter than any other people is inconclusive. There are certainly examples of porkers under the pig. These include Elvis Presley, Sarah Ferguson, Henry Kissinger, Luciano Pavarotti, Big Pun, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Missy Elliott. These people can hardly be blamed for their blameworthy weights, as they may be considered "star-crossed pigs," fated to a life of fat.

As much as the aforementioned group could certainly put any elevator over its weight limit, there also are instances of those born under bacon who have turned out to be hardly the width of a snout. This chain of skinny sausage links includes such notables as David Letterman, Flavor Flav, Winona Ryder, and Woody Allen. How these people avoided the constellations pulling them toward being astronomically large is unclear, but certainly admirable.

So should Chinese parents have children this year? No. Since the number of children a family can have is restricted in China, there is absolutely no sense in dooming your only offspring to a life of being a pig. If I were premier of China, 2007 would see Chinese population drop significantly.

You may be wondering what the fat zodiac sign is in the traditional Greek system. Clearly, it's Virgo, the virgin. This sign, which dooms its followers to a life of celibacy and loneliness, clearly entails that it's people are fat.

As a Rabbit Aquarius, I should be relatively immune to obesity. Rabbits are usually thin, spry, creatures, but can become obese when exposed to elementary school classrooms. I too was exposed to elementary school classrooms, which explains my current weight problems. My status as an Aquarius may explain why everyone is always saying I am only losing water weight. Aquarii are water carriers, and presumably, they have to stop carrying their water at some point. I don't plan on picking up eighteen pounds of water any time soon, and I hope that I have poured them out for good.

The stars clearly aren't saying anything interesting as to what my weight will be in the near future, as it stayed at 187 for the third consecutive measurement. I should be happy that it is not a gain, but this lack of progress is not fun. I can only hope that the constellations align in such a way that by the time we are in the House of Pisces tomorrow, my weight will be ready to make like a fish and dive.

Day 43: 187

Not to Touch the Earth

2007-02-16T16:11:00.001-08:00

Even the least clumsy individual drops the occasional thing. Not things that should be dropped, like pounds or waist sizes, but things like crystal vases and morals. Dropping things in certain situations can be embarrassing, such as a tray in a crowded cafeteria, or a snap for an extra point, as a certain T. Romo could tell you.

Food especially seems to fall out of our hands and onto the floor at an alarming rate. The question of the salvageability of the dropped item is immediately forced upon the klutz. Certain droppers prescribe to time-based rules that regard the number of seconds food can sit on the floor before being sentenced to the trash. These time limits fluctuate from anywhere to three to ten seconds, and may include some basic hints to not eat food that has picked up hair, dust, lint, or other dirt. Others take an entirely different approach to deeming the eatability of a fallen foodstuff, focusing on the type of food.

Packaged foods seem relatively immaculate even after bouncing onto the ground, as the consumed part of the good is still kept pristine by plastic or something. Foods with a naturally protective, removed-before-eating casing, such as bananas, are clearly still edible after being dropped. Other protected foods, such as apples, are perfectly fine after only a quick polishing with a shirt sleeve.

On the other end of the spectrum of recoverability, foods such as pudding may be immediately issued a death certificate upon splattering on the floor. This condemnation may be undue, however, as if the puddle of pudding is deep enough, a spoon can still skim some unperturbed tapioca goodness off the highest part of the pile.

Some foods may require further investigation before a declaration of palatability can be made. For example, toast, which studies have shown falls off counters and lands butter-side-down a majority of the time, is only suitable for replating if the dry side hits the ground. This example is mostly notable because of the fact that people have devoted scientific research to studying falling toast. Now I'm all for diversity in research, but I have to draw a line at falling toast. Nothing says insignificant quite like toast.

Insomuch as dropping food reduces eating, perhaps clumsiness should be a recommended virtue for any dieter. But it is not very cost effective, as vast quantities of food will not be eaten, but still paid for. Dropping food and not later eating it may work for the occasional dropping of weight, but it should not be incorporated into conscious strategy.

What I dropped and picked up in terms of weight stayed completely level over the last twenty-four hours, as I remained, happily, at 187. I can only hope that I can start dropping pounds, and that these pounds roll across the floor and under the couch, never to be picked up again.

Day 41: 187

Alabama Song

2007-02-15T13:05:00.003-08:00

Growing up in Washington, DC, I never really saw any trace of the "obesity epidemic" I heard so much about in the media. Washingtonians are a wonderfully skinny people on the whole, which is presumably why we were picked to be the nation's capital. We model our bodies after the Washington Monument, and the results are just as breathtaking, if not nearly as phallic. Washington should be leading by example, but unfortunately, the rest of the country does not see us for the examples we are.

In fact, the entire Northeastern seaboard is an example for the rest of the country in terms of weight loss. It could even be said that those states which are the most culturally distant from the Atlantic megalopolis are the fattest. As an East Coast cultural imperialist, I take great pride in how my part of the country dominates in the categories of weight as well as all else.

The research backs this up. Studies show that the states with the highest rates of obesity are Mississippi and Alabama. Mississippi, which is the fattest, is no surprise, as there is a mud pie named after the state. And mud pie is two things: brown and fattening.

But Alabama's second place finish is somewhat more mysterious. Perhaps there are too many sweets in the homes of Alabama? More likely, obesity could be contagious, and it's long border with Mississippi could be the reason for it's place among the nation's chunkiest. Proximity to Mississippi seems to be a clear pattern in the scatter of the fatter. The four states which brush up against Mississippi's overflowing girth are all ranked in the top seven of the fattest states. Even in wide-scale geography, it is clear that being near a large group of fat people can't ever lead to anything good.

What Alabama has done well, along with the rest of the Southeastern US, is pump out American Idol contestants. In the five seasons of American Idol, three of the ten contestants who have reached the final two were Alabamians. All three of them were men:Ruben Studdard, Bo Bice, and Taylor Hicks.

The first to reach the final two from Alabama was Ruben Studdard. And Ruben was fat. Very fat. Ruben won largely out of pity, as voters realized that Ruben needed a win more than the much slinkier Clay Aiken, who would clearly have more success after the show. Ruben ironically wore jerseys the size of tarps emblazoned with the number "205." While he claimed to wear the number to "give a shout out" to his home area code, 205, in western Alabama. If you look closely at the shirt, and read between the rolls, you will realize that the number 205 was clearly chosen to signify the reality that even if Ruben weighed 205 pounds, he would be a long way from an acceptable weight. That's how I see it, anyhow.

Ruben, whose recording career predictably stalled because of his portliness, decided to use his free time to spearhead the weight loss campaign "Scale Back Alabama." Ruben has reportedly lost almost 100 pounds in the past year in an attempt to become healthier, more successful, and easier to look at. But before we get carried away by toasting Ruben's near losing of a Benjamin, we must realize that the currency of his poundage has been devalued because of inflation, and that a lost hundred pounds doesn't add up to much at all. But it's a step in the right direction.

I shudder to think how much I might have weighed had I grown up in, or even spent any significant amount of time in Alabama. But I have managed to stay clear of the Yellowhammer State for some time now, and the scale has thusly rewarded me today, with a new low weight of 187. And as the numbers go down, I have to remember never to go south myself. Because if I ever find myself ballooning in the south, I certainly won't be whistling Dixie.

Day 40: 187

Diet Spotlight: Liquid Diet

2007-02-15T13:05:00.001-08:00

This week’s diet spotlight looks at an easy to learn, simple regimen: the liquid diet. The liquid diet, traditionally reserved for those who have had their jaws wired shut for medical purposes, can be used by anyone. The wiring shut of the jaw is purely optional, although it comes strongly recommended as it may reduce the appearance of double chins.

The diet consists of only drinking food, not eating it. Nothing consumed should require any sort of chewing. The diet is designed to keep the digestive system running along without any blockage, which should mean that the processing of food is quickened, possibly resulting in weight loss.

There are many elements of the liquid diet that could be quite convincing:

If you have sensitive teeth, or just don’t feel like expending the energy chewing entails, you will find the liquid diet to be not the least bit taxing on your teeth.
If you are a guy, on the liquid diet, you will never need to sit on a toilet seat, as all your self-relieving can be done without sitting down. This will quicken bathroom visits, and will prove to be essential if you are ever in a bathroom where number twos are strictly verboten.
Instead of packing a meal in a dorky lunchbox, an entire meal can be stored in one of those thermoses with the twist-off lids that double as cups, or in one of those Nalgene bottles that all the cool people love even though they’re pretty tough to drink out of.
Everything consumed on the diet can be consumed with a straw, which gives the dieter the opportunity to use crazy straws frequently. Crazy straws are all sorts of fun, as they allow the drinker to track the path of their liquid up a playfully dizzying plastic maze. Crazy straws have been marginalized in today’s society, and this diet gives them the opportunity to shine.
Tom Dickson of “Will It Blend?” has taught us that just about anything can be liquified and made fit for drinking. Any food can therefore be fit for drinking after a quick run through an industrial strength blender. This discovery will lead to infinite new flavor combinations, such as a puree of steak, champagne, a paperback copy of an Ann Coulter book, and maybe some lemon zest. If it tastes bad, you can try substituting a book by an author who won't leave such a bitter aftertaste.

As nice as all this seems, there are reasons to fault the liquid diet.

So-called "soquids" can be perilous. These foods, which are somewhere between traditional categories of "solid" and "liquid," can trip up the liquid dieter. Questions will arise such as "I can have soups, but can I have bisques? Is pudding a liquid? Then why won't this bread pudding go through my crazy straw? Why is this guacamole so coarse?" You will likely hurt yourself or others by thinking about these distinctions too much.
Your stomach may make swishing sounds when you walk, which can be unsettling or even slightly nauseating. These sounds will likely inspire more bathroom visits.
Even without the swishing sounds, you will be making more trips to the latrine than you would care to. You will find yourself humming that "gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now" jingle. If you get desperate enough, you may even call NASA to find out where to go shopping for adult diapers.
Thanks to recent bans, the liquid diet doesn't fly for air travelers. With the ban on liquids and gels, it is near impossible to bring a liquid meal onto a plane. Unless, of course, you find a travel-size blender to use at the gate.
Some foods just may not do well in liquid form. Beef jerky, for example, will likely never achieve potability.

The liquid diet may be extreme, but it can yield extreme results. Just grab a gallon of whole milk, some melted butter, olive oil, a Biggie Frosty from Wendy's, and add water and stir your way toward a slimmer tomorrow.

Hello, I Love You

2007-02-14T11:11:00.000-08:00

A quick request to all my secret admirers on this Valentine's Day: please click on my ads and tell your friends to read the site and click on the ads. I make about $0.01 a day in ad revenue, which is discouraging to say the least. That's all the groveling for today.

February 14 marks the feast of St. Valentine's Day, a traditional Catholic holiday honoring Valentine, a martyr in the time of the Roman Empire. The holiday has grown immensely in popularity, which is understandable, as depictions of Valentine show that he was not only saintly, but spindly.

Despite its admirably thin inspiration, Valentine's Day is now blasphemed with an overweight underdressed mascot, Cupid. Cupid's handlers have clearly tried to frame his obesity as cherubic, rather than as yet another reason to dislike the armed-and-dangerous diaper wearing infant who is charged with helping people find love. It's funny how those who are given the tasks of flying on such important missions wear diapers...

Also objectionable is that the holiday is symbolized by a heart. This is a clear affront to all those people who have suffered through cardiovascular diseases directly caused by the chocolates and candies so readily available on the day.

Those chalk hearts, which are perhaps the signature dish of the holiday, are also problematic. Although they may be hard and inedible enough to almost be a negative calorie food, the candy hearts should use their blank slate to convey messages of warning to the already lost people who would even consider eating candy on a day devoted to getting someone to like you. They would be better off printing warnings such as the following:
So for those deciding between the two, flowers are always a better gift than candy for Valentine's Day or any other time when not giving one of these two gifts will result in negative consequences. 'Tis a far far better thing to give a gift that will wilt in a few days than to give a gift which will stick to their sides in rolls.

As for myself, I received just about the best I could from the person most deserving of my undying affections these days--myself. I registered a weight of 187.5, a wonderful pound-and-a-half below yesterday. This new low weight may not have been a gift that came in a pseudo-velvet, heart-shaped box, but it is exactly what I wanted.

Day 39: 187.5

Wintertime Love

2007-02-13T15:01:00.000-08:00

Leaving for college in Michigan from DC, I heard all sorts of forboding comments about how cold it would be up here. Most of the people making these comments had never been to Michigan in the winter, but had a little bit to say about just about any college I could have gone to. Not a lot of variety goes into commenting on college choices. Talking about the weather is always a safe option for the uninformed.

I had never really had any problems with cold weather, and had a pretty high tolerance for the cold for a Washingtonian, having played ice hockey for over ten years. And last winter, my first winter here, really wasn't bad at all. It didn't get any colder than it did in Washington. There was only one significant snowfall, and that was in November. The only difference was that spring arrived later than it does in Washington, which is to be expected. Global warming had clearly made anyworries about cold weather moot.

But this winter has been a little unfriendlier. It's been colder for far longer, with frequent spurts of minimal snow that have added up for weeks on the ground. The last day it was above freezing here was January 27th, and so all the snow that has fallen in the past few weeks has not even begun to melt. And with no warmth on the horizon, and 5-8 inches of snow forecasted for tonight, the future looks chilly.

As much as it could have, the cold really hasn't gotten to me all that much. It may have even helped me considerably. Although it may seem counter-intuitive, cold weather is a wonderful help in losing weight. For starters, when it is too cold to go outside, there's no way of buying food. Also, bundling up in layers of thick clothing creates a lot of excess warmth, which results in sweating, which results in weight loss. This bundling up is also aesthetically pleasing, as those who might otherwise be inclined to underdress (despite their unpresentable figures) conceal their imperfections under parkas.

Activities brought about by snow are also advantageous to weight loss. Shoveling snow can be wonderfully strenuous exercise, and in ridding the sidewalk of unwanted weight, the shoveler also rids himself of unwanted weight. Trudging through deep snow also makes even the simplest journey an epic trek, in which the only casualties are calories. And for those who like to pursue falling snowflakes with their tongues, they will be happy to learn that their consumption of the precipitation will likely have a negative caloric outcome. Aside from that, running around with one's tongue hanging out is pretty embarrassing, and hopefully will lead to negative associations with one's tongue, which may lead to less eating.

Winter sports provide yet more evidence that thinness is the key to success in all enterprises. For example, Sasha Cohen, a lithe slice of narrowness, was on the verge of winning Olympic gold on the merit of her lightness alone. Unfortunately, when she fell during her final routine, the judges realized that she had not lost weight to the point where she was no longer susceptible to gravity, and she was demoted to the silver medal. Another tragic tale of how with a little less weight, greatness could have been achieved.

Despite this wonderfully facilitating weather, I registered a gain of a half-pound today, bringing me to 189. Perhaps this half-pound is the equivalent to that annoying layer of ice that forms in ice cream containers when they've been in the freezer too long. I am pretty confident that this weight, and more, will thaw off in the coming days. Trudging around in 5-8 inches of snow should do the trick.

Day 38: 189

Love Me Two Times

2007-02-12T18:20:00.001-08:00

The one thing I spend money on is DVDs. I love buying TV shows on DVD, working my way through the hours of programming, smiling all the way. The most recent television show I bought on DVD was the fourth season of Seinfeld. Seinfeld is a show that I had put off purchasing for a while, because it is in heavy syndication, making for an hour or so of free Seinfeld an hour. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free, you might ask?

For starters, the milk you get on TV is whole and unpasteurized. It is chock full o' commercials, giving viewers dangerous opportunities to eat. Idle eyes can spot the refrigerator, after all. Also I have no way of refrigerating the TV milk, as I don't have TiVo or even a VCR. So I have to drink the milk exactly when they decide to deliver it.

So I bought the cow, which was an especially good deal since it was on sale. But watching the episode titled "The Smelly Car," I began to lose faith in the quality of the show. Jerry opens the show delivering a monologue about how embarrassing it is to have to ask for a doggy bag at restaurants. He goes on about how the request is usually whispered to conceal the notion that the diner somehow humiliated himself by failing to clean his plate.

No possible sentiment could be further from the truth. Getting a doggy bag is a sign that the diner is not a glutton, and has managed to stretch out his dish over at least two meals. Aside from frugality, the doggy bag request demonstrates that the patient eater is likely on his way to losing weight, and nothing could be more attractive than that. Many foods even taste better with age, most notably pizza that is simply left out on the counter, in the cardboard box, to congeal. It's an incredible delicacy. Another of my favorite things to do is to line my pockets with napkins and fill them with pierogies to enjoy later, although I usually wind up finishing those within minutes of the end of the meal.

Perhaps one of the most revered self-rationers in literary history is Charlie Bucket, protagonist of Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Charlie stretched out a single chocolate bar over several weeks by eating only tiny pieces at a time. Conscious eating clearly ran in the Bucket family, as his four grandparents were thin enough to fit into one bed. That, my friends, is quite an accomplishment.

By managing to stay thin, Charlie managed to outlast his fellow golden ticket holders through a bizarre series of eliminations that seemed to expel the kids in order of most to least gluttonous. The first to go was Augustus Gloop, who, not coincidentally was portrayed by yours truly in a summer camp performance of the story when I was about seven years old. Tragic, I know. Ironically, Charlie's restraint from eating eventually earned him a chocolate factory. Just shows that good things come to those who wait--to eat.

As scarring as the typecasting was, I feel as though I will be able to put this former Glooping behind me. I have been trying to be more of a Charlie during this quest to Losing a Benjamin, as I have managed to ration extremely well. I still have some of my birthday cake, which has stayed fresh and delicious for almost two weeks under my watchful eye and meticulous fork. This example, as well as other instances of maximized shelf life, have certainly played a role in today's impressive weight, 188.5 pounds, a full two pounds below yesterday. This pace is reassuring, as weight loss is something that should always be seen as urgent and not to be delayed. Certainly the losing of 100 pounds is not something that I want to have to do in more than one sitting. But I know that despite the large portion of this endeavor, I am on my way to a clean plate, and a lean weight.

Day 37: 188.5