Fat Again

25o pounds. Damn. Heaviest I've ever been.

5 pounds and 12 steps later

Well, I'm back. Reality: Things didn't turn out so well with my experiment. I ended up in rehab following what I thought to be a major breakthrough. About six days into the lab/field work, I decided to try significantly increasing my alcohol and frankfurter intake, which in turn created a peristaltic reaction and allowed me to evacuate my dietary matter. With my abdominal content vacated, I was able to redouble my intake in a very short manner of time. This worked great on Friday, but Saturday was a long day with the bars opening early and Yesterdog having the 4 a.m. close. I don't remember much after those last four cheddar dogs.

When they checked me in, I heard the doctor mumbling something about "alcohol-induced binging and purging" and an orderly snickering, "He's certainly no Mary Kate Olsen." There was some confusion as to what unit I should be on, and what meetings I should attend. In the end, I think they really wanted to keep me away from the teenage girls. So instead they put me in an addiction unit, despite my protestations that the drinking and eating was just an experiment.

I did manage, though, to learn some interesting things. For instance, the path I'm on to lose weight is a circle and it really doesn't matter where I start. Also, my relationships with my family of origin and my current family have contributed to my weight (well, duh). Finally, I can't lose this weight alone, but there is an HP that can help me. Frankly, I'm not sure what a printer is going to do, but I'll try anything at this point.

Anyway, as part of my return from the field, I underwent a full physical today. My weight is up, my chloresterol is down, my blood pressure is on the high side, and my prostate is "very small," according to my doctor. He also said I probably have sleep apnea, which means I stop breathing in my sleep, but that I can cure that by losing weight or by hooking up to a ventilator. I have to say the ventilator idea is kind of cool, and I think you can win one of those things by collecting the bonus points from packages of Malboros or Winstons.

Bottom line: I'm back at it and will be trying to remember enough details from the last two weeks to submit my diet study to the ADA Journal. (DWG Current Weight: 237 lbs.)

DWG reports in from the lab

My doughy white dad guy reported in last night via email. His commitment to science is astonishing (that was a vocab word this week). Here's what he had to say:

"Son, I'm continuing to pursue the beer and hot dog diet. I cut out of work early today to go the tavern and drink beer. It's a long weekend and my thinking is that I should try to make the most of it in terms of consumption and exercise. I'm watching America's Funniest Home Videos and drinking a Double Diamond at 4:30 on a Friday afternoon. This is living. The only thing that concerns me is that there's only one other guy in the bar: another doughy white guy with a mullet who has had three Bud Lights in the time I've had one. Oh my, there was just a woman laying on a glass coffee table in lingerie, and the table collapsed underneath her. "That's a coffee table meant for lattes not hot-tays," the announcer just said. This stuff is hilarious.

"Anyway, son, I'm not sure this diet is making a difference. I'm still at 232 pounds - back where I was when I started. The good news in this, I guess, is that I can treat myself to a beer or three on a regular basis and not have to give up the blessed Yesterdogs...and it's not going to affect my weight. Hmmmm. On the other hand, maybe if I did give those up, I could get back on track. More to ponder.

"I miss you son. Take care of your sister, and I'll be in touch soon."

DWG is MIA...still

Son of a doughy white guy here again. The old man called this afternoon. I was home eating chocolate chip cookies, Lays and drinking a Pepsi. I could barely hear him through the phone because it was very noisy wherever he was. I could hear someone grunting in the background and thought he might have been at the gym, but then the grunting turned into more of a hacking cough.

"Hey, son, I only have a few minutes," he said. "It's been a rough week and it's only Tuesday. Lots going on at work, and then I had a little tiff with the ex-wife and had some other things come up with the ex-business partner. I'm just feeling a bit run down, which sucks because I'm really trying to do this beer and hot dog diet. I have to admit, though, that I sat down last night to watch the Daily Show, and ended up munching on half-a-bag of Combos and then a brownie."

Through the phone, I could hear a voice in the background ask, "you wanna nother" and then my dad's beard scraped against the mouthpiece a couple of times.

"Anywho, son, the biggest bummer of all is that I ran the past three days and went to the gym twice. Well, I stepped on the scale today and my weight is back up to 232. It's a bummer. Not so much because I put on three pounds -- hey, it could be muscle -- but because I'm trying to do something for humanity here and it's a setback. But hey, that's science, right? Einstein flunked his college entrance exams. NASA had to scrap the early Apollo launches. And Marie Curie tried hundreds of times before she finally discovered radium. Of course, the exposure to radium did kill her eventually."

It was quiet for a few moments, and I thought I could hear him sipping something.

"Son, I've got to go. Lots to think about. I love you and I'll talk to you soon."

DWG is MIA

This is the son of the Doughy White Guy. (And no, my nickname is not the Dough Boy...I am 5'3" and 102 pounds). Anyway, I'm writing about my dad, because he's gone away for a while. He sent me an email that said the following:

"Son, I am going to be gone for a while. As you know, I've been trying to lose weight and get healthy so I can be around for you and your sister. I've been going to the gym and eating granola, yogurt and berries for almost a year. I've managed to lose about 15 pounds, but the last couple months I've been stuck at the same weight. Then this week, I did something different and lost about 3 pounds. So I had to ask myself: What did I do different?

After thinking about it for a while, I remembered that I went out three nights this week to the Pickwick Pub and drank beer with friends. I won't say how many actual beers, but I will say I consumed about 3,000 calories. To top it off, I stopped by Yesterdog on the way home and had a couple of chilli dogs each night.

Well, I was feeling pretty badly about myself Saturday morning, so I went to the gym and ran on the treadmill for about 30 minutes, then lifted weights. I must have worked really hard, because I thought I was going to puke the whole time. I drank lots of water and when I was done, I walked over to the scale and stepped on it. My weight: 229 pounds. I double-checked because I had weighed in at 232 a few days earlier. Sure enough, I was down three pounds.

Well, son, it was a revelation. After all these months of working out and eating well, I'm finally losing big weight in no time by consuming beer and hot dogs (and going to the gym). It's a bit unconventional, I know, and there is no science to back it up. But I am willing to be the proverbial "lab rat" on this new theory. It could be my one contribution to humanity.

So starting today, I'm going to be devoting my time to the bar, the dog place and the gym. I'm going to push myself and expand my capacity for each. I've set a high bar: By Sept. 15, I want to be able to bench press 250, run a 5K in 25 minutes, drink a twelve-pack and polish off a Three Dog night. If I can do this, I believe I'll be down to 200 pounds in no time.

I've got my work cut out for me, but I believe I'm up to the task. It will be lonely, hard work and I'll miss you. Remember, I'm doing all this for you. Love, Dad."

Obese Man Impaled In Wicker-Chair Disaster

STAUNTON, VA–Coroners are listing "massive wicker trauma" as the official cause in Monday's death of 420-pound Staunton resident Tony Grushecky. "Forensic evidence indicates that the base of the chair in which Mr. Grushecky sat gave out at 5 p.m. Monday, with the collapse driving razor-sharp wicker spears upwards of two feet into his morbidly obese body," Augusta County Coroner Edward Reynoso told reporters. "In my 22 years as coroner here, I've never seen such a brutal wicker-chair impaling." Grushecky's enormous rolls of body fat were insufficient to protect him from the deadly spears, Reynoso said, and numerous vital organs were irreparably wickered. Taken from...The Onion.

Doughy white funny guy

Most comics have something that upsets them fueling their act. What pisses Jim Gaffigan off?
JG: There is something to be said with presentation. I might look at a Hot Pocket commercial and be like, "How stupid do they think we are?" They're just going to sit there and go, (sings) "Hot Pocket" and we're going to be like, "Oh, that's a good commercial, let's go and eat that crap." Obviously, it's just a calzone or a Jamaican meat product, but they've just called it something else and used the worst description for the product. I feel like everything pisses me off, but I guess I've got it kind of good. I'm pissed off that Angelina Jolie keeps calling me. I was just at Sundance and this business is all about getting too much respect or none. I was there for a film and it was great, they give you free shit and everything, but I would say, like, three times a day people thought I was Philip Seymour Hoffman. Does that piss me off? Not really. You'll look at a script, and I'm a character actor, and it'll be like, "The guy who looks slightly retarded enters the room," and that's my character. Those things can piss you off or you can go, "Yeah, you know what, I am a doughy white guy." I think that's what sarcasm is for, deflecting some of that annoyance.

A new diet for traveling

My grandmother used to say: "If you don't have something nice to say, then don't say anything."

I guess I've modified that over the past few weeks as it relates to blogging: "If you don't have something reasonably interesting...or at least amusing...to write, then don't write anything."

Odd thing is that I've been feeling kind of bloggy lately. Run down, lost my thyroid medicine, several IBS attacks and have not been in the gym for a few weeks. Just damn busy more than anything.

But I have a new source of motivation. I'm going to Costa Rica in mid-November and thinking of a new weight loss strategy: My plan is to drink all the beer I can while I'm down there. On the last day of my trip, I'm going to bottle some of the local water and bring it back home. Once home, I'll start rehydrating with the Costa Rican water and then the dysentary should be good for a 15-20 pound weight loss in short time.

Hmmm, maybe I should cover my bathroom with plastic first. (DWG Weight: 233 lbs.)

I'm not the man I never was

Started taking martial arts classes this week. Thought it would be a good way to work out, learn something new and rebuild the confidence.

Two classes later, the results are in: I'm sore as hell and have had the crap beaten out of me by a couple of teenage girls. One of them is 15 and weighs about 90 pounds. Looks like one of the girls in the eating disorder group from my recent rehab stay. Anyway, my instructor told me to punch her in head. Bad idea. My wrist will heal and the swelling will go down, but I'm not sure I'll ever be the same man again. (DWG Weight: 237 lbs.)

It's my state's fault

Forget blue states and red states. I live in a fat state.

So do most of you, according to a study released yesterday. In fact, every state in the nation except for Oregon, is getting fatter. (The study didn't include Hawaii, but if you've ever grazed at a pupu platter...well, you know the results). Mississippi is the fattest state, Colorado is the skinniest and 7 of the top 10 states are in the Southeast.

I live in the fattest state in the Midwest: Michigan. (We're tied for sixth with Texas, where I spend a lot of time on business.)

Hmmm. Suddenly, it's all coming together. I know what I must do: Move, or sue.

Frankly, moving isn't much of an option. I've got kids, an ex-wife who I share custody with, work, and a few friends here. I also like my house, my neighborhood and my previously noted affliction for late night Yesterdogs.

That leaves the litigation option, which actually could work. I mean, it's not unprecedented. A few years ago a doughy black guy tried suing a bunch of fast food joints for his girth issues. That strikes me as over-the-top. McDonald's is a corporation and we live in a free-market society. If you demand burgers, Mickey D's will supply them.

But a state is an entirely different matter. As citizens, we entrust our public officials to create a safe haven for us. And that starts at the top with the Governor.

Now, I'm not sure I could convince a jury to find fault with our current Governor, Jennifer Granholm, because she's pretty svelte and she's Canadian. Those people drink beer and eat bacon constantly, and nary a pound is gained.

But our previous Guv -- John Engler -- well, he was a bit of a doughy white guy himself. I met him a few times. Nice guy (and he did hang out with Canadians occasionaly), but the bottom line is that there has to be some accountability here. I packed on 70 pounds during his three terms! I'd love to put him on the (reinforced) stand and let the jury decide.

Anyone care to contribute to my legal defense fund? (DWG Weight: 232 lbs.)

Don't hate you because you're beautiful

Are doughy white girls being exploited by corporate America?

New ad campaigns by Dove and Nike that feature "real women" are stirring things up, which is exactly what the soap and shoemakers want.. so they can sell more soap and shoes. The Dove ads, which tout a line of firming lotions, feature women in their underwear. What makes the ads different is that the women are anywhere from size 6 to a 12. The Nike ads feature close ups of body parts and headlines like, "My butt is big." ("My butt is big/Like the letter C/And ten thousand lunges/Have made it rounder.")

Okay, when you look past the fact that the average American woman is a size 14 and that the rhyming in the Nike ads sucks, you come back to the simple fact that it's fashion advertising. And women, no matter how thin and beautiful -- or larger and "real" -- they are, always seem to look in the mirror and find their little flaws. The ad cats know that. That's why the supermodel waifs, mammoth-breasted Victoria's Secret girls and airbrush artists get so much work.

Dove and Nike know that and, in their own way, they're still playing on the insecurity factor. Instead of "Wow, that Uma chick is hot. Maybe if I buy that lotion, my skin will look like hers," the new "real women" ads seem to promote a message of, "Wow, that girl looks kinda like me, except she's happy. Maybe if I buy that new Dove firming cream, I won't hate my body."

When you look at it that way, the "real women" ads are kind of insidious. (Of course, that may be just a guy's rationale for more ads with hot skinny chicks.)

In any case, I don't get it. I don't see an ad with Marcus Shackenberg or whatever his name is and think, "I want to be like him." I see an ad with golfer John Daley in and say, "I AM like him. Hmmm. What should I have for dinner?" (DWG Weight: 232 lbs.)

What's it going to take?

I need help...and I'm willing to make it worth your while. I'll send you a very cool Pillsbury Doughboy t-shirt for free if you can help me lose 15 pounds by the end of September. I don't care how you do it. Offer advice. Tell me your hardluck story. Shame me into it. Post motivational comments. Post snarky comments. Whatever. I'll pick the top three and send each a shirt.

Why the sudden, desperate cry for help? It started yesterday morning. I was at the gym, running on the treadmill. I was actually running pretty fast (for me anyway), breathing hard and the sweat was just drenching me. All of a sudden, the girl who works there -- a very lean, twentysomething personal-trainer type with short shorts -- comes up to me and says, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I wheezed. "Why?"

"Do you want me to turn the fan on for you?"

"No thanks, I'm okay."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to overheat or anything."

I assured her I was okay and kept running. I have to admit, though, that I was a little more self-conscious. I wondered if it looked like I was out of control running at an 8-minute mile pace. Maybe from her perspective, I was a slight stumble away from being rocketed backwards onto the slightly voluptous woman ellipticizing behind me. The personal trainer girl was probably having visions of trying to extricate the doughy woman and me from a tangle of equipment and MP3 headphone cords. I slowed my pace and just jogged for about 10 more minutes. Then I lifted weights and left.

It was a busy day at work, and the incident kind of vanished from my consciousness. After work, I met a buddy of mine for a few beers. I hadn't seen this guy in about five years, and he remarked that I looked good. I said I'd lost about 15 pounds recently, forgetting that the last time I'd seen him I was actually about 10 pounds lighter than I am today.

"Oh really," he said. "You lost 15 pounds, you say?"

"Yeah, about that. I was almost 250."

"Well, that's good you're losing weight. You've always been kind of ample," he said.

Ample. What the fuck is that? The living space in a house can be ample. The evidence in a criminal law case can be ample. A reward can be ample. But me? I know I'm doughy...even overweight. But ample? Sheesh.

So any progress I've made -- the 15 pounds lost, the 30-minute 5K time, the reductions in pant size and chloresterol -- well, it ain't enough. I need to get serious as a heart-attack about this now, or I'm going to just throw the hands in the air (and hope that box of Krispy Kremes land in them). It's now or never.

So post away. And while you're at it, link to my website so I can get maximum input. I'll be waiting. (DWG Weight: 232 lbs.)

Starved

Watched “Starved” on FX the other night. It’s billed as a “dark comedy” about four New Yorkers who have eating disorders: a bulimic black cop; an obese writer, a recovering anorexic (the only female), and a commodities broker who’s a compulsive overeater. They attend a support group where they get yelled at (“It’s NOT okay!”) and get electroshock therapy when they touch their comfort foods. They hang out at a diner and banter a la Seinfeld, sans the comedy. They pull brownies out of the trash can. They go home alone to eat a huge meal with a nice glass of wine…and puke.

This is FX at it’s finest. The network that created "Nip/Tuck" has outdone itself with "Starved." In the first 8 minutes, we’re treated to scenes about male anal stimulation, high colonics, binging and purging, a dominatrix, spanking, electroshock, and penis-shaped baked goods (“a cock cake”). Of course, it all gets wrapped up in 22 minutes.

Frankly, watching "Starved" is a little bit like going to the blues bar. You generally feel better hearing about someone else's problem. Not sure I'll be a regular viewer myself, but I'd recommend you watch it just to see how far the edges of television content are being pushed. It probably won't make you vomit, but likely won't fill you up either. (DWG Weight: 233 lbs.)

Soda ban at schools 30 years too early

Lots of media noise yesterday about the American Beverage Association's announcement of voluntary guidelines to restrict the sale of soda pop in schools. Seems to me like they're missing the point. My 13-year old son plays hockey, football, baseball, basketball, taekwondo, drums and XBOX all day long. He would drink two 2-liters of Sprite every day (if I let him) and never gain a pound. It's physics, people.

He's not the issue. The sale of carbonated sugar water ought to be restricted in offices around the country, where sedentary workers gulp down 140-calorie shots of Coke and Pepsi all day between emails and phone calls. I used to weigh 170 lbs. before I started drinking 5-6 cans of pop at work everday. I never ever ever had soda at school when I was growing up. All we had was warm milk or the drinking fountain to wash down the sloppy joe and swiss steak. Mmmm. Swiss steak. (DWG Weight: 233 lbs.)

No wonder I've been feeling so emotional

Wasn't feeling very motivated to exercise today. Read this story, though, which notes, "A fat man undergoes a process of feminization: hormones in the fatty tissue turn into estrogen, the female hormone...Fat men suffer from health problems, have difficulties maintaining relationships, and suffer from prejudice at work - and on top of all this they suffer from sexual dysfunction. A surplus of female hormones, blockage of blood vessels and possible diabetes, shortage of breath - all enemies of the erection and sexual pleasure...Self image problems are worse. The drooping potbelly 'buries' the male organ inside the folds of fat and makes it look smaller." Great. Man-titties, E.D. and a belly that has a "slimming effect" on my penis. Ended up running for 40 minutes. (DWG Weight: 232 lbs.)

The Bloomberg Diet

New York Mayor Mike Bloomberg, who has a reported weakness for red wine and Nathan's Famous hot dogs, has thrown his weight behind behind a plan to help other New Yawkers trim down and not keel over from a heart attack. The city's Dept. of Healthy and Mental Hygiene is calling for restaurants to eliminate trans fats, found in partially hydrogenated vegetable oils, from their ingredient lists. The change would help fight heart disease, the city's biggest killer since Mayor Rudy helped cut the homicide rate in the '90s.

The citywide trans fat attack wasn't the only item on the Mayor's political diet recently. Bloomberg also attended a ribbon-cutting last week for Weight Watchers, which opened a new HQ in Manhattan's Flatiron District, bringing 100 new jobs to the city from Long Island. And efforts to shed a bit of his own fat were reported in a New York Times story over the weekend. According to aides, Bloomberg has lost 10 pounds and is getting ready for the upcoming campaign season, where he'll no doubt be downing plenty of chicken dinners.

One tip from the DWG: Given your weiner weakness, quit hanging around guys like world hot-dog eating champion Takeru Kobayashi (right) and IFOCE-ranked contender Eric "Badlands" Booker. (IFOCE, by the way, stands for International Federation of Competitive Eating...probably my best shot at a medal of any sort in 2005) (DWG Weight: 232 pounds)