Obesity is the new Tobacco

An opinion piece this week  in the Boston Globe by Derrick Jackson  quotes a prediction that by the year 2030, 4 out of 10 Americans will be obese (i.e., more than 100 pounds) over their suggested shelf weight.

I hate to brag, but once again I am ahead of the curve.  They say that bragging, like eating, is addictive because it makes you feel good.  Apparently, talking about one's self excites the pleasure center of the brain.  I suppose this is why blogs and social network apps like Facebook are so popular.  

My doctor thinks people should try to maintain the same weight they had when they were age 21.  Sure, doc, I'll just stop eating bacon and drinking beer, and start getting more exercise, ha ha ha.

Just thinking about deprivation makes me hungry.

Signs

More signs that the world keeps spinning off kilter:

1.  In Toronto, a couple refuses to reveal the gender of their 4 month old baby.  They feel that such info is "private" until such time as the child is old enough to declare their own gender preference. 
The baby, named "Storm" and referred to by the pronoun "it," did not return our calls.

2. Cognitive dissonance.  The recent rampage of killer storms in places like Oklahoma, Missouri, and Kansas has created terrible destruction, death and injury.  It is always galling when one of the survivors attributes their personal escape from death to "God's grace."   If God was involved at all, didn't he kill a lot of people and animals?  Where was the blessing in that?

3.  When the promised May 21st Rapture did not happen, Harold Camping the nutjob who predicted Armageddon, and who apparently had NOT sold off all his earthly assets, calmly revised the forecast to October 21.  Some people will still believe him, despite every evidence that his reading of the Bible's prophecies is seems flawed.

4.  Coors beer thinks that their customers are so dumb that they need a "cold activation indicator" on the cans and labels of their brew.  Clearly the problem of the ages was that beer guzzlers could not tell when the beer was cold enough to drink.  Perplexed beer hounds roamed the streets of Colorado like zombies chanting "Is my beer cold yet?"

The initial cold indicator has now been supplemented with a Super Cold activation level, which will only turn blue when the can has been in a refrigerator or ice chest.  Whew.  Glad they solved that one!

Chacun à son goût

About a week ago Saturday, I could not put any weight on my right ankle because of excruciating pain. I could barely hobble to the bathroom with the aid of a cane. And descending the stairs was only accomplished the way a one-year-old does it: on my backside, taking steps one-at-a-time. The cause of the pain was a mystery. I could not recall any trauma or misstep that might have resulted in this apparent damage. The foot and ankle seemed swollen, but not blown-out like a purple grapefruit - as usually happens with an injury sprain.

I stayed immobile and fairly agitated most of Saturday. Convinced that something was broken, I showed up at the doctors office on Monday hoping to get it X-rayed. After examining the pictures, the doctor said he could see no bone fracture. He believed the problem is Gout.
"Gout? Isn't that what fat old men who drink too much beer?" I scowled.
"Yes. So what is your question ....?"
Naturally, I got a lecture about my unhealthy eating and drinking habits and lack of exercise. But also a prescription for a steroid (Prednisone) to quell the inflammation.
"Steroids? Hmm, will this help my batting average?" I wondered.
"Definitely, and if I were you I would get over to Fenway Park. They need some help."

The drugs seem to be working, so am getting back to normal. I mowed the lawn a few days ago without any painful after-effects. Last Friday, I attended the monthly retirees lunch with my old Northeastern Univ. cronies. When they observed me nursing a light beer, I was subjected to a hearty round of mockery. I protested that one should not drink alcohol when one is taking drugs.
Jack, who is about my age and shares a fondness for fermented barley and malt, told me that he has had a number of close encounters with gout for years, and has, at times, been so debilitated that he has needed a wheelchair or crutches to get around. When I asked how he controls it, he replied without equivocation that he now has it completely under control. He takes a drug 2 pills a day which flushes his system, and he is never bothered by it anymore. He even washes the pills down with beer. He calls Budweiser "The Beverage of the Gods." Well, who am I to argue with such overwhelming expert medical testimony? I ordered another bud.

Lest the reader think I am too glib for my own good, let me assure you that I take this assault on my mobility very seriously. The ability to go up and down stairs is taken for granted until suddenly you find yourself incapacitated. Perhaps it is time for a change in diet and lifestyle. As they say, the sight of the guillotine sharpens the thinking.
Or, is it the drugs?