Tuesday, January 6, 2004
We've got our own gimmicks for weight loss
Submitted for your approval: At the Barnes & Noble bookstore on Fields Ertel Road, you walk in the front door and the first thing you see is a large table of books with bizarre titles. "Shrink Your Female Fat Zones," they shout. "Outwit Your Weight." "Dieting for Dummies."
This is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. It is an area we call the Twilight Zone.
OK, so I spent too much time watching the Rod Serling marathon on New Year's Eve. But I wonder what kind of episode he might have made about our 21st century obsession with diets, carbs and "abs."
A planet populated by those Muscle Beach freaks in the Bowflex ads, perhaps, where 98-pound weaklings rule the world? Dr. Phil as an alien who uses the Atkins Diet for mind control?
It couldn't be any weirder than the actual diet and fitness books Americans are buying nearly as fast as cheeseburgers.
"Fat Flush Plan." "The Warrior Diet." "The GI Diet." (That's glycemic index, whatever that is.)
There's a fitness book called "Strip Workouts for Every Woman." Well, maybe not every woman. Maybe not Margaret Thatcher or Hillary Clinton. Please.
There are several titles about "ABS," which I thought was standard equipment on new cars, but turns out to be a belly that looks like the sandy side of a lobster.
There's a book called "Cooking Light," with a picture on the cover of a hamburger that weighs more than a barbell. Sure, you can have it all!
"Eat More and Weigh Less," one book promises. Maybe it's a great weight-loss plan, but there's no way I can eat more and weigh less without amputating an arm - and maybe a leg, after the holidays.
Let's face it, we are deluding ourselves. Most of these diets won't last as long as a Britney Spears marriage. But we buy the books anyway, even though we can tell by the covers that the people who write them either never needed a diet (see the stripper workout), or they know less about losing weight than we do (see Dr. Phil).
Apparently, anyone can write a diet book. All it takes is a well-known name or a gimmick that promises you can eat cheesecake, bacon-burgers and unlimited milkshakes and still have a body by Bowflex.
Such as:
The Mike Brown Diet: Anyone who ever said the Bengals were completely hopeless gets to eat nothing but crow. Guaranteed weight loss.
The Cincinnati City Council Workout: Burn calories fast by jumping to conclusions, running in circles and dodging responsibility. No special abilities required.
The Bob Taft Weight Loss Plan: Sit back and do nothing, and the governor will lighten your wallet by raising state taxes.
The Pete Rose Diet: Watch Rose finally admit he bet on baseball, and loyal fans who believed his lies for years are guaranteed to lose their appetites.
And here's my favorite, The Twilight Zone Diet: There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is as vast as space and stretches to infinity. It's your waist - so stop stuffing your pie-hole and get some exercise, dude.
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E-mail pbronson@enquirer.com
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