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A farewell to carbs

After seeing actual results from people I know — Cory, Doc, the older sister of my can’t-commit-to-a-damned-thing ex and Herb (a doctor friend who went to med school with my sister) and recommendations from my trainer Mike (who’s still missing in action) and my mom (who happens to be the Chief of Cardiology at St. Joseph’s Health Centre here in Accordion City), I have committed an act of nutritional sacrilege and hopped on the Atkins Diet.

The basic premise of the diet is that it’s not fat that makes you fat, but digestible carbohydrates. When you eat carbohydrates, your digestive system absorbs sugars from them, which get broken down into the basic sugar called glucose, which you use as fuel. Some of this fuel is used immediately, because your body is like an engine that runs all the time, even when you’re sleeping. Some of it is converted by your liver into glycogen and stored there and in your muscles for near-term use. The remainder gets converted into a form that packs lots of energy into a little space — fat — and gets put into long-term storage tanks on your belly, thighs, butt and eveywhere else that can get flabby.

The Atkins Diet takes this principle and applies this approach: if you cut out the carbs as completely as possible and limit your intake to just proteins and fats, you force your body to start tapping into those long-term storage tanks. As you drain these tanks, you get skinnier.

The Atkins Diet allows you to eat your fill of proteins and fat — steak and eggs, lobster broiled in butter, pork chops — and cut out all carbohydrates — potatoes, bread, foods with sugar, and worst of all, my beloved rice. The strange and counterintuitive approach — which turns the “Food Pyramid” upside-down — has been soundly condemned by the American Medical Association as a “bizarre regimen”; Dr. Atkins has even had to defend his diet at a congressional hearing. However, there’s been all kinds of evidence — anecdotal for years, and scientific — that seems to say that everything we knew about eating might actually be, as an article in the New York Times Magazine [free registration required] put it, “a big fat lie”.

The low-carbohydrate appraoch taken by Atkins seems to have other benefits as well — according to an article that appeared yesterday in Salon, it’s also good for controlling your cholestrol levels. There seems to be evidence that it’s also good for diabetics (very good for me — there’s diabetes on both sides of my family).

Since joining the gym earlier this year, I’ve lost ten pounds and fit in some of my old pants. The problem is that I haven’t been able to lose more than that over the past few months; it’s as if I were stuck. I’m giving Atkins a whirl and seeing what happens over the next three months.

I promise this won’t become some kind of diet-obsessed weblog. It’ll still be the same, fun-lovin’ Advertues of AccordionGuy that you’ve all come to know and love. The only real difference you should notice is that since beer is full of carbs, my drunken nights out will have to be fueled by rum, whiskey or vodka shots (which might make them even more interesting).

Now I just have to see if I can live without rice and beer…

Photo: Me cutting my birthday cake.

Mama didn’t raise no fools: I went on Atkins after the birthday party.
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Scratch that job

Twelve essay questions, my answers to which they loved, and one very good interview later…

…I didn’t score the semi-final interview, the final interview (or the swimsuit competition, for that matter). It was “we love this guy” followed by “he’s not what we’re looking for.”

I don’t mind getting turned down so much as getting turned down after putting in all the work to answer those questions.

For the technical and the curious, I’ve posted in the questions in my other blog.

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Public service announcement

To all you drivers out there in Accordion City and other areas hit by last night’s snow storm:

SNOW IS SLIPPERY.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, the white stuff falling from the sky is the same kind of snow that fell last year, the year before and all prior years. They haven’t improved or upgraded it with a higher-traction version. It plays havoc with traction (especially if you didn’t get your snow tires on yet), increases braking distances, and if you’re like the idiot in the silver Honda Accord who was a few hundred metres ahead of me, it will cause your car to spin like a top if you drive as if you were auditioning for Corvette Summer. The solution is to drive more slowly and leave considerably more braking room, especially when the snow’s falling.

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"Soviet Canuckistan" — now on a T-shirt!

Although Pat Buchanan’s use of the term “Soviet Canuckistan” to describe The People’s Republic of AccordionGuy (the country in which Accordion City is located), it’s been used before:

…and now, an ironic hipster-friendly T-shirt:

Photo: 'Soviet Canuckistan' T-shirts.

Is sexy t-shirt, da? Suitable for proletariat wearink. Will be impressink the hotties in the collective, no?

These were shown at a party held last night to raise awareness of WildCulture.com (there’s not much on the page right now), the on-line reincarnation of Wild Culture, a Toronto-based magazine devoted to ecology, sustainable development, community action and the like (the magazine isn’t around anymore, but they’ve just released this anthology). They’re going for 30 Canadian Roubles each, and I’m going to try and find out how you can order them. In the meantime, if you’re interested in one, drop me a line, and I’ll pass the message on to the t-shirt makers.

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Brisket!

This is a “cheese sandwich” posting taken to the next level.

I’m posting this photo of tonight’s dinner, a brisket that I helped Paul make, as a public service. I want to dispel the stereotype that geeks can’t cook. That, and the fact that I’m so easily amused that I think taking pictures of brisket is fun.

If I get permission to post the recipe, I will. In the meantime, you’ll have to either come on over and sample the food or make do with a photo.

Photo: The brisket, just before it went into the oven. You can't see the meat, as it's covered with garlic, onions, potatoes, carrrots, celery, dates and figs.

Brisket! Paul laid out the mea, spiced it and made the sauce, while I covered it in pressed the garlic, sliced the vegetables and covered it.
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It Happened to Me

Karin the enabler

Photo: Karin.

 

Karin the party machine. Taken this summer at the Bovine Sex Club.

Every time I hang out with my friend Karin, I end up drinking waaaay more than intended.

Last night, we set out to go catch 8 Mile — “It’s the white Purple Rain!” I remember remarking at one point — with Karin and her friends Ed, Kirk and Tara. Paul, Kat and I caught up with them at The Bishop and the Belcher, a nearby pub, where Karin and company were having dinner.

“Joey, why aren’t you drinking?” asked Karin, using a tone of voice that is normally reserved for lines like “Poor little kittens, did you lose your mittens?”

“Not in the budget,” I said, “I just have money for the movie.” I was planning on dropping by the Velvet Underground later, where I can land at least a couple of free drinks, and the busking afterwards would help cover the entertainment budget for the next week.

(Attention employers: I really need a job.)

“We can’t have that,” said Karin, who signalled the waitress and ordered a pint of Stella Artois for me, followed by a half-pint.

We got to the movie theatre only to find out that it had been sold out. Paul and Kat opeted to go home, while the rest of us went to the nearby restaurant/bar/dance club/meet market Fez Batik.

We’d barely bellied up to the bar when Karin put a pint of Heineken in my hand.

After that came the shots of Liquid Cocaine: Jagermeister and Goldschlager.

This was followed by another round. Then another pint.

Then back to my house, where we put on the Gorillaz and finished the rest of the birthday beer, save the giant Heineken bottle.

At just after midnight, everyone departed — Tara and Kirk were quite looped, Ed was catching up with other people, and Karin had to be at work at 9 this morning. I walked her to Spadina and hailed a cab for her. I would’ve said that she was leaning against me for support as we walked, but I’m sure I was doing pretty much the same.

I stumbled back home, fully intending to get my second wind and go to the Velvet to catch up with some friends who’d be there. But first, I needed to lie down for just…one…moment…

…and woke up some time around 5 a.m. with a parched mouth and a full bladder.

On the way to the bathroom, the power went out. Soon after that, but well after I’d crawled back into bed, the power came back on. The sunken halogen lights in my bedroom ceiling glowed with Satan’s vengeance. The dining room CD player dutifully started playing The Gorillaz at a volume inappropriate for 5 a.m., so I had to stumble out of bed to shut it off before it woke any housemates into a justifiably homicidal rage.

There was more to the night than just drinking. There was some really good ‘n’ saucy conversation, but alas, it’s all pretty much unbloggable. You’ll just have to use your imaginations.

I’m doing considerably better now — I’m just a little dehydrated and only mildly disoriented as I type this.

Karin, you enabling hussy, this is all your fault.

Let’s do this again soon.

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2002 International Rock Paper Scissors Championship

That’s right, it’s the 2002 International Rock Paper Scissor Championships, and they’re being held here in Toronto! For the first time, this competition is open to members of the general public. You see, up till now, it was open only to professionals.

Is it because they believe that the general public thinks that “good old rock always wins”?

The championships will be held tomorrow at The Mockingbird (580 King Street West), a spacious exposed-brick warehouse bar where many DJ events are held. Be there a little bit before 8 p.m. if you want to compete and it turns into a post-championship party at 11 p.m.

It’s a short stumble away from Big Trouble in Little China (my house), so I might have to attend this one.