At last I lost

This year marks a true milestone for me. Fifty years ago I began my diet, in earnest, and am proud to announce I lost – drum roll, please – nine pounds! Such a feat deserves a reward in the form of a glass of ice water.

Although I’m a spitting image of Tom Selleck, my annoying doctor feels I need to lose another 91 pounds, which would give me the advantage of stealth when hiding behind a piece of rope.

To accomplish this weight loss coup I foolishly began scrutinizing those oh, so important nutrition labels on packages. What I found was astonishing, to say the least.

It’s hard to believe a pecan pie has 180 grams of fat and 38 grams of sugar, per slice. Immediately, my attention was diverted toward those “sugar-free” pies. Those contain only 176 grams of fat and 34 grams of sugar, per slice. Not the win-win situation for which I was hoping.

Reading diet books made me direct my hunger-beater toward popcorn. Regular, dry, unsalted popcorn contains almost no fat but, tastes like filling from a ruptured bean bag chair. I know; I’ve tried it. So, my next great idea was to try buttered microwave popcorn with salt. Unfortunately, the nutrition data for microwave popcorn bags must be multiplied by three as those numbers reflect three servings. Again, a surprise for which I was not prepared.

Some diet drinks are labeled similarly with servings measured in thimbles. Snacks, such as potato sticks are more conveniently measured in actual numbers. One serving is 18 sticks. For the record, Smokey the Cat can, and has, eaten 27 sticks. It is convenient to be able to eat and play Jenga, though.

But in the course of my travels while telling my tales of woe, I have met very helpful folks who appear to be Ethiopian refugees willing to offer healthy eating advice.

“I eat lots of beans. They’re full of protein,” say these well-meaning single folks. They’re single because they consume lots of beans which digest into lots of methane gas and don’t have time to date as they literally reside in the bathroom. Hence their single status.

“Rice cakes fill me up!” is another heap of advice. They may as well have offered me used paper towels as a snack.

“Soy and tofu burgers are delicious!” is another lie. The Geneva Conventions prohibit feeding prisoners-of-war stuff like that.

And then I found an energy drink that allegedly provides vim to cover five hours of a day. It contains no sugar, no calories, no carbs, no kidding. But, the labels do indicate they are loaded with vitamins B6 an B12 in daily percentage allowable amounts of 2000 and 8333%, respectively.

Not being a nutritionist, I don’t know what the side effects of vitamin B6 and B12 overdoses are. So, I’ll stick to my breakfast, lunch, and dinner of drinking diet water with low calorie ice cubes while watching Smokey eat his kibble.

Just in case

Most religions have basic tenets that include living according to The Golden Rule, and some sort of life after death creed. Life after death can take on many facets to include places called Heaven and Hell as well as a form of theistic and pagan being termed reincarnation.

The Heaven part is based primarily on religious beliefs with a reward for living a good, pure life. Hell, on the other hand, is punishment for living a life that was not so much.

All this assumes that we believe in metaphysics. An afterlife is where our souls go when we check out.

As a high schooler, I diligently attended classes and studied to the best of my ability – something at which my teachers, parents, and I all wish I had exerted more effort. But, I digress.

Here I am many years later – wishing my high school guidance counselor had actually earned her money in directing me toward a truly satisfying occupation, something I managed to do on my own. In any case, I had a good ride that provided enough money and entertainment to last throughout my career and the balance of my life.

Now that I am in my advanced years I look around to see things that weren’t obvious when I was younger. For instance, I would like to have had a job that incorporated some really cool things in the day-to-day mechanics of the world.

Things such as testing automobiles for Bugatti, fly fishing around the globe, or the indiscriminate use of high explosives, are a few thing that immediately come to mind. How people get jobs like these is now a covetous mystery to me.

Tonight I’m doing homework to find out who I need to bribe to tool about the ocean in a Donzi or hang around NASCAR pits with a lanyard with credentials sealed in plastic and look important. You don’t normally see those types of professions posted in the want ads.

Perhaps it’s a brother-in-law that wants you to move out of his basement that comes home and announces, “Enzo Ferrari is looking for help. Can you drive a car? It only pays 419,000 Lira, though.”

And although that amounts to only about $182,000 per annum, you decide you’ll make the sacrifice because they let you take the car home at night.

Jealous, I am not. Envious, I am. But, in case there really is an afterlife, and I do get to come back, I’ll have my resume in good order. That’ll be me in the red sports car.

Just stick it

Just as with wine, each day gets better. Foreigners dislike America because of our opulent lifestyle. So it is with a modicum of smugness I grin when discovering new, innovative products that make ours days better.

A few years ago, I learned of a spatula that neatly turned eggs without breaking the yokes. It was a magical discovery that likely made the rest of the world absolutely envious.

This past year Santa brought me an innovative product called “Eggies.” Eggies are plastic domes into which cracked raw eggs are placed. Once inside, the Eggie is dropped into hot water and boiled for a specified amount of time. It bobs around the pan of water, cooking the egg, perfectly. The Eggie is then opened and the hardboiled egg is removed. Its draw is that no peeling of the egg is necessary, which makes for quick, easy processing.

Each egg is perfectly cooked with the yoke simply extracted for processing into deviled eggs. These contraptions can also be used to cook liquid ‘egg product,’ resulting in egg-like shaped, well, congealed egg juice. I use ‘egg product’ because it has no cholesterol but, often like hardboiled eggs in my salads. Using Eggies in conjunction with egg product makes for this desired, healthy result.

But, today is even more special. Once again, I discovered a new, innovative product that is not only revolutionary but, also “green.”

“Green” is the new wave that supposedly will save our planet from self-destruction by re-using some products, and implementing renewable resources in others. A very noble - if fruitless – effort. But, I digress.

This new discovery is the Orgreenic fry pan that is coated with some space-age substance that prevents anything – anything – from sticking to it. The world’s worst cooks could burn these things with napalm and the Orgreenic fry pan will simply wipe clean. No fuss, no muss. They promise.

It seems as though that promise is to replace any Orgreenic pan with another if it is damaged. I’m sure this warranty lasts until the Orgreenic Fry Pan Company goes out of business. But, not to worry!

If you order one right now – that is RIGHT NOW – they will send you a second indestructible Orgreenic fry pan. You only need to include shipping costs which amount to nearly a third of the price of a pan.

But, why would anyone need two? One is guaranteed for life! And, what is that special coating that prevents anything from sticking to it? Which begs the question: How do they get that special coating to stick to the pan?

Be jealous of us, world!

Back When

Several times a year, a well-known automobile auction house conducts a televised auction of some of the most wonderful cars, trucks, and airplanes in the world. Several times a year, I get snookered in to watching this display of expressiveness, and do so with great awe.

A parade of beautiful examples of ways to use the internal combustion engine enthralls me for days upon days with each day bringing increasingly more expensive vehicles to the block.

For me, this spectacle is akin to me climbing inside a time machine, all the while wearing rose-colored glasses. Many of these vehicles were regular sights on America’s roads so, I remember seeing them cruising about and dreaming of them before I was actually old enough to drive.

Studebakers, Ramblers, WWII Jeeps, and DeSotos were a mere sampling of cars that eventually gave-way to Fords, Chevys, and Chryslers. This mean example of attrition spawned an unexpected birth of ways to make the “standards” better, and the “odd-balls” totally desirable. Some of the spirited, gifted neighborhood backyard mechanics and their offspring would build some of these more custom vehicles which I admired on my trek to and from school.

It must be borne in mind that I was in first grade before America had fifty states. Seeing a bullet-nosed Studebaker was not really rare back then, but today, seeing one on the byways is both quite amazing and smile-evoking.

Muscle cars came into being during the mid-1960’s and disappeared in the early 1970’s. They were small cars with big engines that went fast. They were fun to drive and easy to repair. Gas was 30-cents per gallon. Mustangs, GTOs, Camaros, Chevelles, and Road Runners were some of the top muscle cars of yore.

Those cars are now very sought after by collectors and mechanics are willing to pay top dollar to relive their childhoods with vehicles they likely couldn't afford at that time. A 1956 Ford F-100 pickup truck that originally sold for about $3,000 will now set you back between $60,000 and $110,000, depending on the options and details. I sold mine for $500, and was glad to get that for it, back when.

Prices like that still keep me at bay because my checkbook is a bit thin but, countless others don’t have that problem and enjoy fulfilling their dreams. Bravo to them!

Today’s vehicles don’t evoke the same emotions from me, though. For some reason, I fail to foresee a truly future collectible market for the likes of a Prius – a car that shuts off when stopped - that I see for a Plymouth Prowler. Maybe I’m wrong; I’ve been wrong before. Besides, the Prius shuts itself off when stopped.

In any case, a car that quits running at a stop light has usually spelled t-r-o-u-b-l-e for me. And, most my cars would pass anything on the road - except a gas station.

Those were the days.