I’m busy tonight with a hairy data conversion for one of my software clients,  so this is a short post.

I don’t know if this is pathetic, funny, a positive sign, or a combination of all three:  The makers of Karo corn syrup would like you to know that their product doesn’t contain any high fructose corn syrup.

I found this photo while going over my collection from Christmas. My mom had a bottle of this stuff in her kitchen, apparently to put in some kind of Christmas dessert I didn’t eat.  (If memory serves, we used to put dark Karo syrup on our waffles during my sugar-laden childhood.)

In case you’re wondering about the difference, high fructose corn syrup undergoes an extra step in which enzymes convert more of the glucose from the corn into fructose to make it sweeter.

I recommend you avoid corn syrup of either variety.

Since the kitchen in our new house is short on counter space, Chareva bought a kitchen cart with a wooden cutting-board top.  The manual included instructions on how to season the cutting board with oil.

Coconut oil is good, according to the manual, because it’s highly stable.  Mineral oil is fine, too.

But, explained the manual, you don’t want to season the cutting board with vegetable oils because … wait for it … THEY GO RANCID TOO QUICKLY.

But hey, if you leave them in a cupboard for a few months and then cook your meals in them, that’s good for you.  Just ask the health experts.

Sheesh …

I used to have a love-hate relationship with New Year’s. Like countless other people, I began each year with a resolution to finally lose some serious weight and keep it off. That was the “love” part … I loved feeling righteous and disciplined as I wrote down those all-important “action steps” to achieve my goal. By gosh, I’m really going to do it this year!

Unfortunately, my action steps always included sticking to some low-fat, vegetarian, or very-low-calorie diet, which led to the “hate” part … I hated waking up each succeeding January 1st knowing I was no leaner (and often fatter) than the year before. Naturally, I attributed the sorry result to a lack of willpower. I’d think back on all the times I surrendered to hunger and blame myself for caving in, instead of blaming the diet for making me feel ravenous.

Then, proving myself to be what Moe Howard might describe as “an intelligent imbecile,” I’d more or less repeat the previous year’s failed action plan:  going to the store to stock up on rice cakes, Slim-Fast, pasta, fat-free pasta sauce, whole-grain cereals, skim milk or soy milk, Garden Burgers, Egg Beaters, butter-flavored spray for the low-fat popcorn, etc.  One year I even bought a big ol’ electric treadmill and promised to walk on it for an hour every night.  And guess what?  I did.  Unfortunately, my waistline wasn’t impressed.

My love-hate relationship with January 1st is long gone. After returning home from our holiday trip to Illinois, Chareva and I spent part of the weekend arranging our closets in the new house and deciding which clothes to take to Goodwill. Before hanging some dress slacks (which I almost never wear) in my closet, I figured it would be a good idea to try them on first. You can see how they fit in the picture below.

I bought those slacks two years ago, after I’d already lost a chunk of weight. Since I tend to store fat above the beltline – belly and love handles – I didn’t need smaller pants when I first lost weight after making Fat Head. But in the past couple of years, I’ve gone from wearing a size 38 to a size 36, and now the size 36 pants are actually a bit too loose. Size 34 pants are a bit too snug, so I’m probably a size 35. You won’t find that size in stores, so I’m putting up with the loose 36 pants for now. If I end up wearing a size 34 someday, cool. If not, that’s cool too. Reaching that size might require shrinking the width of my pelvis, and no diet will accomplish that.

The point is, I’ve continued getting a bit leaner over these past two years without starving myself, without counting calories, and without limiting myself to tasteless foods I don’t really like. I live on a meaty, high-fat diet most people would consider indulgent, and yet I no longer struggle with my weight. I no longer wake up on New Year’s feeling disgusted with my body and promising to do something about it. My resolution this year is to keep doing what I’ve been doing.

I know I can keep that promise.

Happy New Year.

I wrote this a couple of years ago, but I’m reposting it for the newer readers.
Happy Holidays — Tom

‘Twas the night before statins, and all through the land
Our lipids were lethal, as we’d soon understand.
Our eggs were all stacked in the fridge with great care
In hopes they’d be scrambled, or fried if we dare.

The children were calm and well-fed in their beds,
While visions of sausages danced in their heads.
The dads, mostly lean, and wives often thinner
Had just settled down for a porterhouse dinner.

When out in the world there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from their plates to see what was the matter,
And what on the cover of TIME should appear,
But an arrogant scientist, peddling fear.

Cheers and belief from an ignorant press
Gave a luster of truth to the new, biased mess.
So away to the doctor we flew in a pack,
In hopes of a plan to end heart attacks.

He was dressed in all white from his neck to his butt
(which conveniently hid the size of his gut).
He sat us all down for a well-meaning chat:
“More carbohydrates — avoid all that fat!”

So sugars and starches we passed through our lips,
Only to wear them on bellies and hips.
Our hearts with their plaques continued to swell,
We grew diabetic and weren’t feeling well.

The doctor announced it was likely our fault –
We were, after all, still eating salt.
“But there’s no other option,” he said with shrug,
And pulled out his pad to prescribe some new drugs.

“Now Crestor! Now Zocor! Then Lipitor next!
Now Lipex! Now Lescol, and best take Plavix!
To the depths of the liver! To the artery wall!
Force it down, force it down, foul cholesterol!”

Our appetites crazed, we soon looked like blimps.
Our children lost focus, our manhood went limp.
The doctor examined joints now wracked with pain
And concluded the patients were old or insane.

He chose Celebrex for muscles that ache,
And added Cialis to the drugs we should take.
“Now stick to your diet, and be of good cheer,
If this doesn’t work, I’ll do lap-band next year!”

Yesterday afternoon I caught up on emails from readers, which included some disturbing news articles -– like this one, about a boy being taken from his mother and put in foster care because he’s too fat:

An 8-year-old Cleveland boy has just become the poster-child for a sad new nadir in the childhood obesity epidemic. The third grader, who weighs more than 200 pounds, was removed from his mother’s custody because of what officials have deemed medical neglect.

The County said that the child’s weight gain was caused by his environment and that the mother wasn’t following doctor’s orders — which she disputes.
“This child’s problem was so severe that we had to take custody,” Mary Louise Madigan, a spokeswoman for the Department of Children and Family Services said. The agency worked with the mother for more than a year before asking Juvenile Court for custody of the child, she said.

Lawyers for the mother, a substitute elementary school teacher who is also taking vocational school classes, think the county has overreached in this case by arguing that medical conditions the boy is at risk for — but doesn’t yet have — pose an imminent danger to his health.”

So the state is taking the kid away for the sake of his health.  I wonder how separating him from his mother and forcing him to live with strangers will affect his mental health?  And if he’s still fat after spending a year or so with a foster family, will the state officials return him to his mother — and then resign?

Speaking of taking kids away, I also read this article:

Finnish officials have told a family of low-carbohydrate enthusiasts that their children would be taken into care if they failed to heed nutrition advice, provincial paper Iisalmen Sanomat reported Sunday.

Ursula Schwab, a clinical nutrition specialist at the University of East Finland, said at least one family had received such an ultimatum after parents ignored healthcare staff’s warnings about the dangers of an imbalanced diet for children.

Schwab added that she knew of parents who had put toddlers on so-called low-carb diets. “A strict low-carb diet is very fatty, and it suppresses hunger. If you down eggs and bacon for breakfast it will take hours before you can even imagine eating again.”

Well, for Pete’s sake, we can’t have kids downing bacon and eggs for breakfast and then not being hungry again for several hours! How are they supposed to become obese enough to be taken away from their parents for their own good?!

Finally, I read a New York Times puff piece praising the accomplishments of George McGovern -– including, of course, his inspiring leadership while establishing the Dietary Goals for Americans.

Head. Bang. On. Desk.

With those cheery bits of news in mind, I went to bed and had the strangest dream. It began with an aging politician snoring in his bed on Christmas Eve …

ZZZZZZ. ZZZZZZZZ.

“Woooooooh! Woooooooooh! ”

ZZZZZ – !!

“What? What’s that noise? Is somebody there?”

“Yes, Senator McGovern, somebody is there. And I’ve come for you. Woooooooh!”

“Hey! Enough with the Wooooooh stuff, okay? I was a bomber pilot in the war. I’m not afraid of ghosts.”

“You will be. Woooooooh!”

“Oh yeah? Well, if you’re a ghost, whose ghost are you?”

“Richard Milhous Nix—“

“AAAAAAAAAAGGHHHHHH!!!!”

“Geez, calm down, George. I’m not here to hurt you.“

“Well then, what the heck do you want?”

“To deliver a message. Let me make this perfectly clear:  Three more ghosts will enter your room tonight.”

“Ahh, your White House plumbers are back in action again, huh?”

“Not spooks, George.  Ghosts. And you’d better pay attention to what they show you.”

“Fine, I’ll pay attention. Now go away. I have nightmares about you as it is. Didn’t even win my own state, for the love of–”

“Okay, I’m going. You won’t have Dick Nixon to kick around anymore. Woooooooh!”

“Three more ghosts … bah, humbug! Just a bad dream, that’s all it was.”

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

“Geooooooorge! Geoooooorge!”

ZZZZZ—

“Now what? Who is that?”

“It’s me, George. Teddy Kennedy.”

“Teddy! Great to see you! What are you doing here?”

“I’m the Ghost of Government Past.”

“A ghost? But you’re all wet.”

“I drove here.”

“I see.”

“Come with me, George. We need to visit your past. There, look down. See?”

“Hey! That’s me, conducting my hearings on the Dietary Goals For America! Aw, boy, Teddy, weren’t we a bunch of optimists back then? So sure of ourselves, telling everyone else how to live right.”

“Indeed, Senator. You really put the ‘govern’ in McGovern, George.”

“Yup. We were so full of promise, always trying to do some good.”

“Yes, George, your intentions were good. No matter what else you see tonight, remember that:  your intentions were good.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.  Huh … ”

“Something wrong, George?”

“I kind of forgot about this part. ‘A senator, unlike a research scientist, doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for every last shred of evidence to come in.’ Did I really say that?”

“Yes, George. But like I said, your intentions were good.”

“Of course.”

“I have to go now. Some of us are getting a game of touch football going. Have you ever tried that with ghosts you can’t actually touch? It’s weird. Goodbye, George.”

“Ted? Ted? Ahhh, I knew it. Back in bed. Just another weird dream. I really should get some sleep…”

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

“Hiya, George!”

“WHAT THE—Jerry? Jerry Ford?”

“The Ghost of Government Present, at your service!”

“Jerry, why are you here?”

“Well, the previous Ghost of Government Present had to resign, so—”

“No, no. Why are you here, in my bedroom?”

“Oh, right. I need to show you something. Come on, follow me. Down there. Take a look. ”

“Who are these people, Jerry? Why are you showing them to me?”

“That’s the Cratchit family, George. They’re having dinner.”

“Yes, I can see that. But why is the mother crying?”

“Because some government officials are threatening to take away Tiny Tim and send him to a foster home.”

“Which one is Tiny Tim?”

“That one.”

“Wow. Look, Jerry, I feel sorry for parents and all, but maybe they shouldn’t have nicknamed that kid ‘Tiny.’ He’s a blimp.”

“That’s why the government is threatening to take him away, George.”

“They’re taking him away for being fat? What is this, the old Soviet Union?”

“There’s no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe, and there never be will be under a Ford Administration!”

“Uh, Jerry–”

“Sorry. But I still don’t see why that line got everyone so upset.”

“Jerry, why don’t the parents just encourage Tiny Tim to lose some weight?”

“They’ve tried, George. They’ve tried over and over. As soon as they realized he had a weight problem, they put him on a strict low-fat diet with plenty of grains. Cereals with skim milk. Sandwiches with lean meats. Pasta, potatoes, rice. Crackers and fruit juice for snacks. No eggs, no cream, no butter. Just like you recommended, remember?”

“Well, if that didn’t work, they should have tried just feeding him less. I mean, come on, Jerry—”

“They tried that too, George. They’ve gone from doctor to doctor, and they always get the same advice: put him on a low-fat, calorie-restricted diet. Poor Tiny Tim has spent half his life feeling hungry, but getting fatter anyway.”

“Bah, humbug.  If they were truly following my advice—”

“They did follow your advice, George. But since Tiny Tim is still fat, the government health experts assume the parents are lying. That’s why they want to take Tiny Tim away.”

“But this can’t be! My intentions were good! Please, Jerry, tell me there’s still some way we can … Jerry? Jerry, where did you go?!”

“I’ve got to go, George. The previous Ghost of Government Present called and told me he needs a big favor of some kind.”

“Jerry, wait, I can’t see the family anymore! What happened to Tiny Tim? Jerry, come back! I promise I’ll do better if you just give me another chance!”

“There you go again.”

“Wha … Ronald Reagan?”

“Yes. Although I’m currently starring as the Ghost of Government Yet To Come.”

“This is a complete nightmare!”

“Well, now, that’s what they said about Bedtime for Bonzo, but I think over the years the critics have come to appreciate—“

“Ronnie, please, I need to know what happened to Tiny Tim. Take me back to the family.”

“Too late, George. You’re in the future now.”

“Then take me to the family now … I mean, here in the future.”

“You sure you want to see that, George?”

“Yes, Ronnie. I must.”

“Okay, come along with me. See? There’s the family, sitting down for dinner.”

“But Tiny Tim’s chair is empty! Did he … did he …”

“Die? No, George. He lost weight, his blood pressure went down, his glucose stabilized, his kidney function returned to normal, and he started concentrating better in school.”

“Then where is he?”

“The government took him away, George.”

“But why?”

“Well, take a good look at the family dinner table, George.”

“Steak, broccoli, butter, some kind of cream-based dessert … wait, where’s the bread, Ronnie? The pasta? The potatoes? They’re eating way too much fat.”

“That’s why the government took Tiny Tim away, George. The Cratchits stopped following your advice and Tiny Tim got better. But the government doesn’t like it when people stop following your advice, so they took Tiny Tim away.”

“But I never wanted any of this to happen, Ronnie! My intentions were—“

“—were good. Yes, I know, George. There you go again, assuming good intentions mean good results. Like I always said, sometimes government is the problem.”

“I refuse to believe this is my fault, Ronnie. It can’t be.”

“Then you need to ask yourself a question: People have been following your advice for 40 years. Are they happier now than they were 40 years ago? Are they leaner than they were 40 years ago? Are they healthier than they were 40 years ago? Are kids concentrating better than they were 40 years ago?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then George, maybe it’s time you just admit your advice was wrong. I’ve got to go now. I’m expecting Nancy to join me any minute.”

“Ronnie, wait! Don’t go! Ronnie, please, I want to go back! I want to go back!”

BUZZ-BUZZ-BUZZ-BUZZ-BUZZ-BUZZ-BUZZ!!

“Wha? My own bed … 7:00 a.m. alarm … so it was all just a dream! There’s still time.“

CREEAAAAK.

“Excuse me, young man! Up here!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you know a family with a boy named Tiny Tim?”

“Yes, sir. They live just down the road.”

“Here, I’m tossing you down a hundred-dollar bill. I want you to go out and buy the biggest, fattest turkey you can find and take it to Tiny Tim’s house.”

“Will do, sir.”

“And some ham. And some bacon. And some eggs and butter. And a nice selection of green vegetables. Can you do that?”

“Of course, sir. Right away, sir. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas to you, young man. And may God bless us, every one!”

Odds and ends from the news, my email inbox, etc:

Take Those Salt Guidelines With A Grain Of … You Know

Perhaps someone should send this article to Mayor Bloomberg before he tries to force his anti-salt preferences on more food manufacturers:

Reducing dietary sodium (salt) helps lower blood pressure a little, but it also may increase levels of some hormones and unhealthy blood fats, a new review of studies shows. Researchers say that means cutting back on sodium may not have a substantial health benefit.

More like no benefit whatsoever, at least for most of us.

The review is an analysis of data from more than 167 studies of people with normal or high blood pressure who were randomly assigned to eat either high- or low-sodium diets.

It found that eating less than 2,800 milligrams of sodium a day helped lower blood pressure. But the reductions were small — an average of 1% for people who had normal blood pressure to begin with and 3.5% for people with high blood pressure.

So if your blood pressure is 130/90, cutting back on salt might reduce that to 128/89 or so. Whoopie. I’d rather enjoy my food.

But cutting back on salt appeared to have other effects, too.

Since so many experts are pushing low-salt diets in spite their negligible effect on blood pressure, I’ll bet those other effects are fabulous.

People on lower-sodium diets had an average 2.5% increase in cholesterol and a 7% increase in bad blood fats called triglycerides compared to people who were eating more than 3,450 milligrams of sodium — an amount that’s close to what the CDC says the average American eats every day.

Way to go, Mayor Bloomberg! That’s just what New Yorkers need – higher triglycerides.

Now, considering that this was an analysis of 167 studies, you’d expect the results to finally convince the anti-salt hysterics to shut up and go away. And of course, you’d be wrong.

But critics say the review draws faulty conclusions because it relies on too many small, short-term studies. They say the weight of research evidence shows clear health benefits when people cut back on sodium.

Yes, uh … ahem … well, uh … you see, if you simply ignore the vast majority of the studies out there, you can still claim the weight of research evidence shows that salt causes high blood pressure.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Scientists are freakin’ liars.

Scientists Are Freakin’ Liars

I told you I’d say it again. Another freakin’ liar was busted just recently:

Tilburg and Groningen universities are to take legal action against one of their professors after an investigation showed he had faked research data in at least 30 scientific papers.

The fraud is ‘considerable and shocking’, the committee set up to look into Diederik Stapel’s academic publications said in an initial report into the scandal on Monday.

The investigation shows at least 30 academic papers submitted to respected scientific journals contained data that he had invented and there are doubts about several dozen more, the committee said. In total, statistics quoted in 150 papers dating back to 2004 when Stapel worked at Groningen University, are being examined.

The investigation committee also accused Stapel of abusing his position by damaging the reputations of young researchers who worked with him. False statistical data was used in 14 out of 21 doctoral theses mentored by Stapel, the NRC said.

So he’s not only a freakin’ liar, he was apparently training young scientists how to be freakin’ liars too. I wonder what kind of hidden agenda could cause a supposed scientist to engage in such un-scientific behavior?

Stapel, who was a professor of social and behavioural sciences at Tilburg, was suspended last month after doubts emerged about research that concluded eating meat makes people anti-social and selfish.

Hmmm … perhaps one of Stapel’s grad students should conduct a study to determine if shunning meat turns scientists into egotistical morons.

Meat ATMs

A reader sent me an article about vending machines in Paris that dispense French bread. (See the video below).

I replied that I’d much prefer to find a vending machine that dispenses meat (even though some “scientists” believe the meat would make me anti-social and selfish). Well, wouldn’t you know it:

Places one can acquire meat usually include grocery stores, farmers markets, and, if you’re lucky, a proper butcher shop. Residents of Odenville, Alabama can now add “a vending machine in a convenience store” to that list. No cuts are over $6, and they claim it’s actually cheaper than a grocery store.

Now all they need are some nearby grills that take quarters.

Grocery Clerk Pushes Fat Head

I take it as a good sign when people who know me starting hearing about Fat Head from people who don’t. A good friend of The Older Brother’s grabbed a quick lunch at McDonald’s with a business associate awhile back, and after tossing the bun from his burger, the business associate began explaining that he’d taken to eating burgers without buns after seeing this great documentary called Fat Head.

Yesterday my low-carb buddy Dana Carpender had a similar experience at an Aldi grocery store, which she recounted on her Hold The Toast blog:

When my turn came, I told the nice young man that the last time I’d come to Aldi I had written about it at my blog, posting all the prices from my receipt. Cool, he said. I wrote?, he asked. Yep, I told him, I write about nutrition and cooking and stuff. Interesting, he replied, he was into nutrition. Well, I said, I’m kind of the anti-vegan. He liked that, said he ate a lot of meat, too. I’m one of those Atkins people, I said, I eat low carb. He lit up — had I heard of a documentary called Fat Head?

Hah! When I told him that Tom Naughton is a friend of mine, that I know him from the Low Carb Cruise, you would have thought I said I knew Jack Black or Will Ferrell. He thought that was the coolest thing ever — he’d seen Fat Head, gone low carb, and lost fifty pounds.

I’m pretty sure Jack Black and Will Ferrell aren’t writing software 40 hours a week to pay for their new houses, but hey, it’s nice to have some name recognition.

Overheard At Work

So while I was taking a break at the software-writing job today, I overheard two women talking as they were buying their mid-afternoon snacks. One proposed (kidding, of course) that anything you eat with a Diet Coke doesn’t count. The other said she liked that theory, because dieting is too hard.

“Naw, dieting is easy,” her friend replied. “It just doesn’t work.”

Perhaps they need to visit an Aldi and get some advice from a clerk.