Fat Shank

This past Wednesday night I faced my arch nemesis -- the scale -- and lost. But this wasn't an ordinary scale. Oh no, this was a mechanism that calculated not only weight, but height, body mass and fat mass. It was the ultra deluxe car wash of scales, and all for the low, low price of one dollar.

I eagerly fed the machine my wrinkled Washington and waited for the results. I felt like I was at a slot machine; lemon, lemon, cherry! Oh! So close. Both fingers were crossed as I chanted "No whammy, no whammy, no whammy!" The scale pulsated and rotated; analyzing my awesome body and asking me probing questions like my sex and age. (Those are the same questions I drunkly ask at bars. Was this machine hitting on me?)

Finally, all the waiting -- nearly a whole minute -- paid off, and the numbers started to print out. I weigh 149.2 lbs. Not bad. I'll take it. Apparently, I'm only 6'0.8" tall. Hmmm, this I'm going to contest. I am totally 6'1". My body mass index is exactly 20.0 - thank god! If i was any lower, even 19.99, i would be in the "underweight" category. Once again, I barely squeak by. I'll take it! At 20 I'm sitting pretty at "ideal weight." This is the first time the words "ideal weight" have EVER been used to describe me.

At this point I'm thrilled with the results. Then i read the portion of the receipt marked "Fat Index." GULP! Survey says...23% TWENTY-THREE PERCENT! Which makes my fat mass 34.3 lbs. (Christ on a cross that's a lot of fat. Cats don't even weigh that much.) A fourth of me is NOTHING BUT FAT. Over thirty pounds. So let's see, if pork is 5 dollars a pound, carry the one...Jesus! And again, I'm on the cusp of two different categories. Currently, I'm considered "average," at 23%, but "poor" isn't far away at 24.4 percent.

Finally, the machine informed me that the ideal weight for me is between 150.8 lbs-188.6 lbs. Piece of cake! Mmmmm, cake. "Poor," here I come!

A New Post

After a much needed hiatus, I have returned to my blog, only to abandon it again six months from now -- just a heads up. So what's new in my life you ask? Uh...wait...I know this one...uh...uh...I got nothing. A week or two ago I spent about a day working out; trying to get rid of this parking meter of a body, but to no avail. I continue to eat and drink enough for 10 men, but nothin. Oh well.

But you know what really grinds my gears? My subscription to the Post ran out this week. At first I just thought someone was stealing my paper, it's happened before, but after a few days of not seeing it on my doorstep, or at the bottom of the stairwell at the back of my apartment building -- which I can only assume is where the driver leaves it when he's drunk -- I realized I'd been cut off.

So why didn't I renew my subscription you ask? Oh, but I did -- two weeks ago. I had to call the contact rep. for my neighborhood to find out what the fuck was wrong. He asked for my address. As soon as I told him my apartment number I could immediately hear his tone change to indicate that my account on the computer screen was flashing "did not tip delivery man for Christmas." Maybe that's why my paper occasionally ends up in the stairwell, all askew. Whatever, I need that ten dollars!

Anyway, he said they were backlogged in processing subscription renewals. What is this, the passport office? How time consuming is it to punch in some credit card numbers? Hell, it only took me 5 seconds when I did it myself on the Post's Web site. But much like my day of working out, it was apparently a waste of time.