First off, Mr. Mad Scientist, thank you for calling off the dogs and allowing me into your top-secret foodporn lair. But was the billy club to the head, chloroform-laced burlap sack, and iron maiden full of tranquilizer darts really necessary?
Oh, of course it was! After all, nobody needs know where I do my work. They only must know that the work is done, and that it is oh-so-delicious and oh-so-shareable.
Well, that is certainly is. Though it is a little jarring to receive these constant, sometimes several-times-a-minute reminders that, no matter how many lunges and crunches and burpees and hot yoga we do, we are all so, so incredibly fat.
Good science is rarely comfortable, my fine, drugged-out friend.
Originally published on Zug.com (now Media Shower) on March 8, 2013
Despite sharing a hairstyle with Rihanna, I am in fact a 30-year-old adult male, knocking on the doors of year 31.
Get rid of the lipstick and boobs, and we’re pretty much twins.
As such, I need to start eating better. The days of taking an extra-large dump and losing five pounds are fast slipping away, and I could easily wake up tomorrow and require assistance just to sit up.
Luckily for me, there are tons of healthy food choices. Unluckily for me, they’re all fairly atrocious and fear-inducing. I enjoy potatoes and carrots as much as the next rabbit, but some of these goofy things look like primitive tools. And my svelte, girlish figure depends on eating them?
Well, if this was to be my future, I decided to see if I couldn’t make it a wee bit more fun. I remember Jerry Seinfeld’s girlfriend put out a book awhile back where she taught us how to slip junk food into healthy stuff so kids would eat them. My advance apologies to all friends and family members whose birthdays I had to forgot so my brain could retain this information.
Her idea was decent, but didn’t go far enough, so I decided to take over. I picked out six of those weird, exotic vegetables that grocery stores technically sell but you regularly skip past on your way to the Cheez-Its aisle. Paired up with a favorite junk food of mine, could I make these abominations taste like real food? Or would it all end up in a real toilet, real fast?
Originally published on Zug.com (now Media Shower) way back in the good ‘ol days. And by that, I mean January 8, 2013.
OK, I may never win Parent of the Year, but I care about my kid. I care so much in fact that I’ve listened to hours of his hideous music and watched a blinding amount of Air Buddies movies, all in the name of parental guidance.
But nothing is more important than watching what your child puts into his or her body. So to make sure my little guy is eating right, I’m dining like a five-year-old for a week. Three bland squares, a tiny snack every now and then, and an assload of regrets.
Normally, I’m a good cook. Not a restaurant pro mind you, because that requires patience and people skills. In my own kitchen though, I’m pretty damn handy. But for the next week, I have to forget about all that.
Can my adult brain, warped by years of awesome food, large portions, and the ability to find a recipe and just make the damn thing, handle having my appetite reduced to that of a kindergartner’s? No, probably not. I will likely be grumpy and ornery throughout. But that’s what you came for, right? Of course it was.