War on Carb

I'm dieting.

I realize you, dear reader, don't know me too well yet. I'm about 5'11 and 180 pounds. So I'm not enormous. But the novelty here isn't numerical, its conceptual. You see never in my life have I given much credence to this whole health thing. I love rich, greasy food; the type of food that warms the tongue, slickens the teeth, quenches the soul. Burger, steak, liver, nihaari: all titillate my senses and grease my otherwise evasive personality. A day without a slab of meat is a day in the fires of culinary hell.

So I've been burning down here for 5 days. I eat only salads with vinaigrette, scrambled eggs, or (oh god) fresh fruit. I haven't come within a 10-foot radius of a carbohydrate since Friday. Bob, our house chef, is threatening to quit. My fraternity brothers don't see me anymore. They rumor around the house is that I'm vegetating in a corner of my room with a copy of the Tripitaka. It's too early to tell how this new regime will effect my sanity, but the early signs aren't encouraging.

The self-disciple might have been brought about by last week's crippling snow days. All hell sort of broke loose. Professors were scrambling to maintain class schedules, postpone exams, and generally have a field day with their email accounts. Us students reveled. I can say with certainty that last Wednesday, not a single person on campus took a shower. In addition to the hygienal festivities, lots of aforementioned food was consumed. Like, lots. We were all walking around with second day stubbles and protruding bellies. The local economy might actually have benefitted from 6 inches of snow that brought life to a stand still.

Anyway, the point being: I got fat. And now I'm on a perilous, impossible, Frodo-an quest to shave a few pounds off the mid-riff. One positive from all of this is that I caught up on some work. Speaking of which, good ol' Dr. Gitter has a nice little exam all ready for me tomorrow morning. More and exams and diets next week. Till then:

Ciao for now.