Skip to main content

On Dieting

 I love my neighbors, two wacky gay men with a truckload of domesticated animals and a fondness for horror films.


For this reason, I'm indulgent when my neighbors become a bit overly excited about board games, or about the Hulu series Under the Banner of Heaven. Have I myself not occasionally talked too much about Sondheim? Have I not bored a listener with unwanted biographical reporting on Beverly Cleary?

But my patience wears thin when we begin to talk about dieting. I don't believe in diets. I think they are punitive and ineffective. I think they are a way to ensure that you will ultimately gain weight. I have evidence, too: After reporting gleefully on their food successes, my neighbors inevitably gain weight. And a period of sadness sets in. And the roller-coaster ride begins again.

I've rarely, if ever, seen religious zeal that matches my neighbors' feelings for the KETO diet. One day, these two arrived at my house, and they just began unspooling many lengthy stories about life without carbohydrates. I didn't ask anything; certainly, I kept my skepticism to myself, but I wasn't encouraging. I was hearing about special graphs, Google docs, a lusted-for state called "ketosis," which made me think of Anthony Perkins, in "Psycho" .... My neighbors were thrusting dishes at me, as if I'd asked for new dishes. "If you close your eyes, the cabbage tastes like bread!" But I had never said I'd renounced bread. I like bread. I have no intention of replacing it with cabbage.

I do understand. I think I understand. When my neighbors get crazy--"Melted soy vanilla pops almost resemble ice cream!"--I just remember certain thoughts I have about Sondheim. If you stage MERRILY WE ROLL ALONG in a thousand new ways, it might become a coherent show.....If you listen to PASSION regularly for ten to twelve more years, it might become interesting.....

"This is all so great," I say, cheerfully. "It's wonderful that you've found a meal plan that works for you...."
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...
1 comment
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more