Somebody said, "Have you been working out?" today.

Then he said I was "cut." Sounds so violent.

Meanwhile the clueless personal trainers running the weightloss contest are harrassing everyone about keeping a "food journal" and attending the group rock-climbing jaunt. This weekend they are taking us to the grocery store for a good old fashioned label-readin' sesh. They are going to lead my hapless competitors direct to the Kashi and rolled oats aisle. We are going to learn about Splenda and stevia!!! I hope there's time for an independent study jaunt. I'll come back with my cart full of pomegranite juice and get all kind of extra credit. Everyone will copy me, drink the stuff and gain five pounds. Meanwhile, I'll use it to brighten up my fishtank and dye my socks. My numbers will continue, inexorable, to fall.

I'm going on vacation again, but here's a diet tip: the reason we don't eat oysters in the summer is not that they will give us the listeria but that they spawn in the summer. Do you like to suck cold undiluted mushroom soup direct from the can? Then you will love oyster spawn.

Downshift!

I am eating oranges and drinking black coffee, and I am happy again.

I was going to do this gradually by trending off swill onto "healthy whole grains," but when I looked at the maniacally grinning multiracial yuptastic couple on the Kashi box this morning, I Just. Could. Not. Go there. "Good Friends" my fat, raddled ass. Tonight the brown rice, the whole wheat bagels, the bread, the rotini, they go. They all go. Out, you bastard Kashi. Out! I'm glad I managed to finish the challah. But the storebought sourdough is untouched and I don't care: it's going. It's all going, probably to the home of a certain underweight lad I know. I dumped what was left of the carton of OJ down the sink, though. I couldn't inflict that stuff on any lad, no matter how underweight. Nasty weird opaque boiled tasting swill. Down the drain and straight to hell with you! Away! Away from me and mine.