Thursday, August 18, 2011

Flab is not fab, keep it under cover please

I recently regaled my readers with my observations of the bulk many of our American cousins are packing around.
And while watching the Yankees plod from eatery to eatery, I came to the conclusion there really should be some sort of restriction on the size and style of clothing people are allowed to wear in public. And not only in the U.S. of A., but where ever flab is a factor.
As you may have guessed, I am not referring to clothes that are too loose. I admit I do not really understand the baggy pants thing that so many of today’s youngsters like to wear, but at least they are not visual fashion assaults like clothes that are too tight, too small or, worst of all, both.
If a person is substantially overweight I do not need to see their belly hanging out in plain view where it can frighten small children and middle-aged men.
If your ‘spare tire’ looks more like an overinflated inner tube, please keep it covered. If your buttocks region is so large it is starting to form its own gravitational pull, perhaps short shorts is not the best fashion option to sport in public.
In your own home, put on whatever you want. What do I care if your goldfish need therapy from seeing their owner run around in a Speedo and cut off shirt?
It is when the fashion disaster is forced upon me that I must protest.
First and foremost, if you weigh slightly less than a VW Bug, spandex is never, and I do mean ever, an option. This applies to all genders and all age groups.
Young flab is just as unappealing as old flab. Lady flab and man flab cross the line of ick at equal velocity.
Again, I implore you, think of the children.
This next one is strictly for the ladies. If your breasts are so wrinkled they look like an aerial topographical map of the Grand Canyon do not wear a low-cut top.
Trust me ladies, at that point nobody wants to see them on display.
Men, you are not immune from fashion faux pas. If there is more hair on your back than a German shepherd, put a shirt on and keep it on – always.
If your stomach is big enough 10 people can hide from the sun in its shadow, a shirt must be worn at all times. Period. There is no room for negotiation on this one, much like the spandex.
Well then, what about you Mr. Columnist-man? Are you built like a Greek god with rippling muscles and six-pack abs?
When it comes to muscles is there really that big a difference between ripple and jiggle?
As for my abdominal region I have taken it beyond a mere six pack. That is for wimps. My abs more resemble a keg, which is way more than a lowly six pack.
And I am sure there must be a pot-bellied, balding flabby Greek god out there somewhere - perhaps an underachieving cousin of Zeus known as the God of the Couch Potatoes.
You have to admit, that would be a pretty popular deity.
But I do my best to keep my less-than-stellar body from public display. I mean, people may be eating, or small children might be close by so it is the least I can do to make this a better world.
I am not obese by any stretch, but the let’s just say about the only way I would take my shirt off in public is if it were on fire.
This last one is for men of all shapes and sizes. If you are in a department store, grocery story or even a corner store WEAR YOUR SHIRT.
I do not need to be picking up some milk and eggs and see your man nipples staring at me.
That is why they invented clothing in the first place.
Proper clothing for the body type is all I ask. Is that too much to hope for? Judging by the last time I was in a Wal-Mart, I guess so.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Suddenly, I feel slim

I recently gained some insight into why our American brethren are so, um, how shall I put it – weight enhanced.
My family recently spent a week south of the border and it was a frightening experience.
Not because of the American’s love of fire arms and my constant paranoia of someone going on a shooting spree, which is likely generated by the violent American culture we see on TV, no, my biggest fear was that all of those thin-challenged people being concentrated in one part of the globe would cause the earth to wobble on its axis and knock the planet out of orbit.
I have never seen so many fitness-deprived people in my life. It was like half the country missed their Weight Watchers meeting – for the past decade or so. I am sure a few maybe had a glandular problem or some other medical situation that was the cause of their packed-on pounds, but I suspect the majority of them had a stuffing-their-face-and-never-getting-off-the-couch problem.
There has been a lot of talk recently about how so many of our Yankee cousins are expanding around the wasteline at an alarming rate.
Well, I witness first-hand the destructive power of doughnuts.
Some of these people were absolutely huge. I saw one man, who looked to be in his 30s, who was so big the concrete creaked when he walked down the sidewalk.
It took only a couple of days before I realized he was far from alone in the enhanced body size department. Men, women, young and old were sporting more flab than a whale during mating season.
But it is easy to see why. I observed our American counterparts have a thing for deep-fried foods – the deeper the better.
Deep fried chicken, deep fried fish, even deep-fried chocolate bars. Who the hell deep fries chocolate bars? I guess the calorie count was not nearly high enough, so what do you say we boil it in oil for a while to see if we can increase the calorie count. Besides, heart attacks are just an urban myth anyway.
I read about a country fair that offered a double cheese burger with bacon between two doughnuts for buns. It came in at almost 3,000 calories.
A small village in Nepal could live off of that for a week and some chubby Yank is scrumming it down an hour before supper.
“I’ll just have one. I don’t want to ruin my appetite.”
Because we were staying at a hotel, we ate out at least twice a day. The first morning I was going over the menu at a popular chain restaurant that featured bacon, eggs, hashbrowns, sausage, ham, toast and coffee in a variety of variations.
There were a dozen versions of the same food.
Nowhere on the menu did I see a fruit bowl, or a light meal or half portion like we can find in Canada.
The first time we stopped at a fast food restaurant for a grease burger and some (deep fried) fries, I was asked what size drink I would like – small, medium or large.
I choose medium expecting a modest cup of liquid but instead was handed a 10-gallon bucket full of pop. This thing was big enough to drop from an airplane and put out a forest fire.
It was easily bigger than a Canadian large beverage. I can only imagine what an American large or a super size would be like. I was thirsty, but I have never been that thirsty.
However there is an upside to all these chubby fried-food eaters – well, an upside for me anyway.
By the end of our stay, I was starting to feel pretty good about myself and would not cringe every time I walked past a mirror in profile.
Sure I still needed to lose 20 or so pounds – at least according to my know-it-all doctor anyway – but next to some of the behemoths meandering around Washington state I am a waif.