The NY Times posed this question: Should restaurants be forced to post calorie counts alongside their prices?
At first glance I thought, yeah, why not. It would probably help the public to make more informed and, hopefully, healthier choices when going out to eat. But, after I'd meditated on it for a minute, I decided that, no, I would not like that. If I were going out for "date night" to a restaurant, I don't really want to know exactly how much crap I'm eating. I want to order something that I couldn't make at home, eat it until satiated and then bring the rest home to eat for lunch the next day. I do not want to feel guilty for ordering my lamb shank with oven-roasted garlic potatoes and sauteed spinach. I do not want to be left the option of only the grilled salmon with a side salad, no dressing. I could eat that at home. I do eat that at home.
What people really need is a good education in nutrition. Once you understand what, exactly, calories mean and which types of food contain what types vitamins, minerals, proteins, fats and sugars, you can go just about anywhere and make a wise choice (and should you overindulge one night a month, as long as you have a dedicated and changing workout routine you should be fine. Yes, everyone should have a workout routine and avoid lame excuses for not doing it. Recent research shows that the main cause of physical decline with age is a lack of dedicated training [Men's Health, May 2008, pg. 77; pulled from Journal of Physiology]. But that's another issue). Knowing what constitutes a lean meat is a good place to start. But better yet, we should really focus on portion sizes. It would be prudent for those who are watching what they're eating (I am swiftly becoming a member of this category) to request an extra plate and immediately take half of their serving and put it aside to be wrapped up ASAP.
Having nutrition information listed on menus would likely burden people more than it would help them. Dining out should be a treat; it should be fun. It should not be an experience that leaves the patrons feeling guilty, no matter what they choose to indulge in. Posting such information would also, possibly, force chefs to alter many of their offerings and techniques. For example, French food uses lots of butter. Get over it. That's French cooking for you. And we like French cooking for the fact that it is extremely rich and indulgent. But, then, how is it, again, that the French are not overweight? Portion size. Thus, once again, supporting my argument that it would be more beneficial to just halve your portion of whatever you order before consuming.
Therefore, I whole-heartedly disagree with the NY courts that are attempting to force restaurants to put nutrition information on menus. There are intermediate steps (such as simply having said information available upon request) that are being skipped completely. As far as I can tell, there is also no evidence that putting nutrition information on the menu alongside the dish changes the customer's ordering habits in a beneficial manner. It could also create problems for certain chefs/restaurants. It would be wise to investigate the myriad other options available to the food industry before passing a ruling that require such an extreme measure.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
A Kindred Spirit
"He could measure his own progress only in relationship to others, and his idea of excellence was to do something at least as well as all the men his own age who were doing the same thing even better. The fact that there were thousands of men his own age and older who had not even attained the rank of major enlivened him with foppish delight in his own remarkable worth; on the other hand, the fact that there were men of this own age and younger who were already generals contaminated him with an agonizing sense of failure and made him gnaw at his fingernails with an unappeasable anxiety that was even more intense than Hungry Joe's."
Heller, Joseph (1955). Catch-22: Colonel Cathcart. New York: Simon and Schuster.
As soon as I read the above quote something clicked and my brain shouted, "That's me!" Regardless of what I've achieved thus far in my life, I'm always comparing myself to others. Whenever I read an article or hear a story about how some 22 year-old has received his/her B.A., M.A., and PhD and spent the past year and a half volunteering overseas doing work on foreign affairs, etc, I can't help but feel like a failure (they could be 25, you get the drift). Then I look at other people and see that I'm in pretty good shape comparatively. So it goes that my self-esteem reads a bit like an alpha-wave, with many various peaks and valleys of relatively uniform shape.
Having been told my whole life that I will excel at anything I do, I feel a certain need be an over-achiever. I need to live up to my "high earning potential." I need to prove myself better than average. I need to be smarter, leaner, fitter, more aware, etc., than the average person. And so, today, I feel a bit like Colonel Cathcart.
Heller, Joseph (1955). Catch-22: Colonel Cathcart. New York: Simon and Schuster.
As soon as I read the above quote something clicked and my brain shouted, "That's me!" Regardless of what I've achieved thus far in my life, I'm always comparing myself to others. Whenever I read an article or hear a story about how some 22 year-old has received his/her B.A., M.A., and PhD and spent the past year and a half volunteering overseas doing work on foreign affairs, etc, I can't help but feel like a failure (they could be 25, you get the drift). Then I look at other people and see that I'm in pretty good shape comparatively. So it goes that my self-esteem reads a bit like an alpha-wave, with many various peaks and valleys of relatively uniform shape.
Having been told my whole life that I will excel at anything I do, I feel a certain need be an over-achiever. I need to live up to my "high earning potential." I need to prove myself better than average. I need to be smarter, leaner, fitter, more aware, etc., than the average person. And so, today, I feel a bit like Colonel Cathcart.
Monday, April 21, 2008
The Best Medicine
I drove up and backed into my parking spot right behind D's. Decked out in my UMass Amherst shirt, tight shorts, a hat and sneakers, I was ready. I'd even brought a water bottle with me, unusual since I dislike carrying anything while I run. D put on his "hydration pack" (a backpack that you fill with water), threw our keys into it and we were off.
The entire week had been gorgeous; temperatures were steady in mid- to upper-70's, the sun was shining (my freckles made their first appearance of the season) and it seemed everyone needed to get outside. We walked for a bit until we got to the trail and then we started our usual jog/walk. Trails don't lend themselves to running, at least for me, because I'm not a sure-footed individual. Nevertheless, I love getting out and listening to the frogs, the water, the wind in the blooming trees; smiling at fellow joggers, hikers, bikers, and strollers as I pick my way along the path. I walked far more than usual and we deviated from our usual route, but still it felt good to be moving, great to revel in the long awaited springtime.
For our return trip I chose to take the path instead of staying on the trails; D didn't seem to mind and I felt that I would get a better workout running on more even ground. Off we went; me jogging at my moderate pace (I sometimes feel as though I'm simply plodding along and am astonished when I actually get anywhere), D sprinting past me then walking, then sprinting and walking. Then he made a comment about someone ahead of us; the fat man, I believe he was called. The fat man was beating us. So I picked up my pace, going at a near full sprint (not full or I wouldn't have been able to sustain it). D caught up with me. "Wow, you're fast!" I smiled and probably giggled a little; I certainly don't think of myself as "fast." But he assured me it was true. Now I felt really good.
We continued along, the sun peeking out from the clouds every so often, bikers whizzing by, families moving slowly along as the children ran off to look at this or that. My arms tend to get tired first, probably because they're so tense. But I ignored the pain easily enough and my feet carried me on. On and on, past various off-shoots for trails up into the hills, past the suggestions that horses had recently been here, past little houses and fountains, benches and wildlife. I developed a mantra that I repeated to myself when I felt like slowing to a walk: I will earn my dinner and sex tonight, I will earn my dinner and sex tonight. And by god, I did.
When I ran track in high school I'd set a simple goal for myself: Do not come in last. At the one race my mother will forever bring up, I was nearing the finish and I looked back. There was one girl right on my heels and another a few paces behind. Satisfied that even if I should slow down I'd not be last, I did just that. I let the girl on my heels pass me and simply finished next to last. My competitive spirit seems to show itself in board and card games, but not so much in sports. Running on that path, however, I actually felt like I could compete. Maybe my running is actually improving! Maybe if I start doing some speed work and going longer distances I can become even better. I actually can survive longer runs!
I walked back to my car feeling very proud of myself. I hadn't stopped when I wanted to (except for on the trails...but we'll ignore that for now) and I finished with energy to spare. I'd made it over my usual hurdle and definitely had a second wind. It feels like it's been a long time since I accomplished something and I've forgotten how good it truly feels.
We went to Fig for dinner and I made sure to enjoy every bite (not difficult to do, the food was quite good) and every sip of wine. At home I made sure to enjoy dessert as well. I fell asleep quickly and even when I woke up (realizing we were sleeping with the lights on) I was able to quickly fall back to sleep. I noticed nothing at all and remember only odd snippets of my dreams (I remember for some reason talking about a girl I'd gone to middle school with in one dream, I remember having strange dating experiences--entirely fictional--in another, and I remember going to a casino in what I thought was Atlantic City, but turned out to be Vegas with a hotel dressed up like AC, and winning something because I'd written "Shabbot Shalom" on my card). Today I feel amazing. I'm happy, I feel no soreness at all even though I neglected to stretch, my beau is off to NY for a few days but I got some little kisses on my shoulder this morning so I feel good, and even doing nothing at work isn't bothering me.
It's amazing what a little challenging exercise can do for the mind, body, and soul.
The entire week had been gorgeous; temperatures were steady in mid- to upper-70's, the sun was shining (my freckles made their first appearance of the season) and it seemed everyone needed to get outside. We walked for a bit until we got to the trail and then we started our usual jog/walk. Trails don't lend themselves to running, at least for me, because I'm not a sure-footed individual. Nevertheless, I love getting out and listening to the frogs, the water, the wind in the blooming trees; smiling at fellow joggers, hikers, bikers, and strollers as I pick my way along the path. I walked far more than usual and we deviated from our usual route, but still it felt good to be moving, great to revel in the long awaited springtime.
For our return trip I chose to take the path instead of staying on the trails; D didn't seem to mind and I felt that I would get a better workout running on more even ground. Off we went; me jogging at my moderate pace (I sometimes feel as though I'm simply plodding along and am astonished when I actually get anywhere), D sprinting past me then walking, then sprinting and walking. Then he made a comment about someone ahead of us; the fat man, I believe he was called. The fat man was beating us. So I picked up my pace, going at a near full sprint (not full or I wouldn't have been able to sustain it). D caught up with me. "Wow, you're fast!" I smiled and probably giggled a little; I certainly don't think of myself as "fast." But he assured me it was true. Now I felt really good.
We continued along, the sun peeking out from the clouds every so often, bikers whizzing by, families moving slowly along as the children ran off to look at this or that. My arms tend to get tired first, probably because they're so tense. But I ignored the pain easily enough and my feet carried me on. On and on, past various off-shoots for trails up into the hills, past the suggestions that horses had recently been here, past little houses and fountains, benches and wildlife. I developed a mantra that I repeated to myself when I felt like slowing to a walk: I will earn my dinner and sex tonight, I will earn my dinner and sex tonight. And by god, I did.
When I ran track in high school I'd set a simple goal for myself: Do not come in last. At the one race my mother will forever bring up, I was nearing the finish and I looked back. There was one girl right on my heels and another a few paces behind. Satisfied that even if I should slow down I'd not be last, I did just that. I let the girl on my heels pass me and simply finished next to last. My competitive spirit seems to show itself in board and card games, but not so much in sports. Running on that path, however, I actually felt like I could compete. Maybe my running is actually improving! Maybe if I start doing some speed work and going longer distances I can become even better. I actually can survive longer runs!
I walked back to my car feeling very proud of myself. I hadn't stopped when I wanted to (except for on the trails...but we'll ignore that for now) and I finished with energy to spare. I'd made it over my usual hurdle and definitely had a second wind. It feels like it's been a long time since I accomplished something and I've forgotten how good it truly feels.
We went to Fig for dinner and I made sure to enjoy every bite (not difficult to do, the food was quite good) and every sip of wine. At home I made sure to enjoy dessert as well. I fell asleep quickly and even when I woke up (realizing we were sleeping with the lights on) I was able to quickly fall back to sleep. I noticed nothing at all and remember only odd snippets of my dreams (I remember for some reason talking about a girl I'd gone to middle school with in one dream, I remember having strange dating experiences--entirely fictional--in another, and I remember going to a casino in what I thought was Atlantic City, but turned out to be Vegas with a hotel dressed up like AC, and winning something because I'd written "Shabbot Shalom" on my card). Today I feel amazing. I'm happy, I feel no soreness at all even though I neglected to stretch, my beau is off to NY for a few days but I got some little kisses on my shoulder this morning so I feel good, and even doing nothing at work isn't bothering me.
It's amazing what a little challenging exercise can do for the mind, body, and soul.
Monday, April 14, 2008
My Vista Life
Paolino: our lives are like a Windows program
Matt: So your life isn't like any particular Windows program?
Faye: I mean, maybe Vista. It sucks and really isn't different than it was before.
Matt: It's prettier and slower?
Faye: Yeah, actually
Matt: So your life isn't like any particular Windows program?
Faye: I mean, maybe Vista. It sucks and really isn't different than it was before.
Matt: It's prettier and slower?
Faye: Yeah, actually
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
The Less I Do
I went from a job where I spent my time covertly reading blogs and the NY Times online while having absolutely nothing to do to a job where I sit openly reading books and the NY Times online where I still have nothing to do. I'm not sure how to make clear to people that I'm completely serious when I say that I prefer to be busy. I've spent my entire life having lots to do; books to read and write about, papers to compose, problems to solve, presentations to create, prepare, practice and present, etc. Now, after working so hard to be the best in all of those pursuits I spend my time doing precisely...nothing.
"It must be so nice to have the time to read so many books," my coworkers (mostly the attorneys) say when they see me on my breaks. I try to smile and say that it is rather nice to be able to just read at my leisure. Truthfully, however, I don't enjoy it. I've always found at least a little time to read books for pleasure, even if it was just for 10 minutes before falling asleep. I've never felt as though this is something that I'm missing out on, but I am repeatedly told that I should "enjoy it while I can." I try, mind you, to see this as a positive, it's just not that easy.
When I took this job I had made it (or so I thought) abundantly clear that I need to be kept busy. When the job was described to me I said, "I can do that, but I really do need to be busy. I can't stand having nothing to do. I abhor simply sitting around. I feel like I'm wasting my time." I was assured, neigh, promised that the firm would have "no problem" keeping me busy. So I agreed to come work for them.
My first day in I had "training" in the morning that consisted of a whacked out, confused, forgetful woman asking me whether I knew how to use: Outlook, Word, Excel, PowerPoint, internet. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes and, but of course. I was then shown where the lunch room and the ladies room were. Finally I was plopped at the front desk with a different smiling woman next to me. The phone rang, I was instructed to answer it, I did, transferred the call, and was congratulated. "Looks like you've got this," said the smiling woman as she got up and left me. That was it. I was never introduced to anyone. I was never shown the upper floor of our firm (except the lunch room). I was expected to simply know everyone right off the bat. When I walked in at 8:30am on my second day of work I was greeted with, "You're late" (I'm not on the clock until 8:30, but fuck, apparently at 8:30 I'm late). People then quickly became annoyed when I didn't know who they were/where they were supposed to be/what they were supposed to be doing/where the person they were looking for was/what time they came in last Friday/etc. I went home that night and cried. I didn't think I'd make it.
Lo and behold I've been toughing it out, but for what? Slowly I began learning who people were. I still didn't know my way around, but I could get coffee/tea, fill up my water bottle, find the bathroom, and find where to eat my lunch. A week or so in the firm gained about 10 new attorneys. So just as I'd started to recognize the people who were already here I had to learn a bunch more people who came to me with just about every question under the sun. Of course, I couldn't answer any of them.
A week or so later I was told that I'd be getting trained to open clients and matters. "Oh thank god," I thought! It was at least another week until that actually happened. Then I finished it faster than they thought I would. One of the attorneys gave me a simple survey project that she seemed to assume would take me all day. 15 minutes later I was done. At least 5 of the senior attorneys have said that they'll be looking to give me work, advocate on my behalf to get me work, send me something, even a little something, to work on, etc.
I'm in month 3 and I've lost count of how many books I've read. I still have not gotten to wander around the office and figure out where people are located. I wake up in the mornings (at 6 am) and simply cannot get myself motivated to come into the office and sit around doing nothing for 8 hours. By the end of the day I feel like I'm wiped out and I've done absolutely nothing. I have no motivation to do anything. I just want to sleep. I'm bored. I'm horribly bored. I'm 22 years old and dying to work. I've been working towards this my whole life and now I'm stagnant. I don't know if it's the workforce in general or just this office (and the last one I was in, apparently). The assistants I have lunch with are older and thinking about retirement. Many of them begin sentences with, "When I was young this wouldn't be a problem, but now..." May I point out that I am young? I WANT TO WORK.
Now I just have to wait and see how long I'm going to last...
"It must be so nice to have the time to read so many books," my coworkers (mostly the attorneys) say when they see me on my breaks. I try to smile and say that it is rather nice to be able to just read at my leisure. Truthfully, however, I don't enjoy it. I've always found at least a little time to read books for pleasure, even if it was just for 10 minutes before falling asleep. I've never felt as though this is something that I'm missing out on, but I am repeatedly told that I should "enjoy it while I can." I try, mind you, to see this as a positive, it's just not that easy.
When I took this job I had made it (or so I thought) abundantly clear that I need to be kept busy. When the job was described to me I said, "I can do that, but I really do need to be busy. I can't stand having nothing to do. I abhor simply sitting around. I feel like I'm wasting my time." I was assured, neigh, promised that the firm would have "no problem" keeping me busy. So I agreed to come work for them.
My first day in I had "training" in the morning that consisted of a whacked out, confused, forgetful woman asking me whether I knew how to use: Outlook, Word, Excel, PowerPoint, internet. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes and, but of course. I was then shown where the lunch room and the ladies room were. Finally I was plopped at the front desk with a different smiling woman next to me. The phone rang, I was instructed to answer it, I did, transferred the call, and was congratulated. "Looks like you've got this," said the smiling woman as she got up and left me. That was it. I was never introduced to anyone. I was never shown the upper floor of our firm (except the lunch room). I was expected to simply know everyone right off the bat. When I walked in at 8:30am on my second day of work I was greeted with, "You're late" (I'm not on the clock until 8:30, but fuck, apparently at 8:30 I'm late). People then quickly became annoyed when I didn't know who they were/where they were supposed to be/what they were supposed to be doing/where the person they were looking for was/what time they came in last Friday/etc. I went home that night and cried. I didn't think I'd make it.
Lo and behold I've been toughing it out, but for what? Slowly I began learning who people were. I still didn't know my way around, but I could get coffee/tea, fill up my water bottle, find the bathroom, and find where to eat my lunch. A week or so in the firm gained about 10 new attorneys. So just as I'd started to recognize the people who were already here I had to learn a bunch more people who came to me with just about every question under the sun. Of course, I couldn't answer any of them.
A week or so later I was told that I'd be getting trained to open clients and matters. "Oh thank god," I thought! It was at least another week until that actually happened. Then I finished it faster than they thought I would. One of the attorneys gave me a simple survey project that she seemed to assume would take me all day. 15 minutes later I was done. At least 5 of the senior attorneys have said that they'll be looking to give me work, advocate on my behalf to get me work, send me something, even a little something, to work on, etc.
I'm in month 3 and I've lost count of how many books I've read. I still have not gotten to wander around the office and figure out where people are located. I wake up in the mornings (at 6 am) and simply cannot get myself motivated to come into the office and sit around doing nothing for 8 hours. By the end of the day I feel like I'm wiped out and I've done absolutely nothing. I have no motivation to do anything. I just want to sleep. I'm bored. I'm horribly bored. I'm 22 years old and dying to work. I've been working towards this my whole life and now I'm stagnant. I don't know if it's the workforce in general or just this office (and the last one I was in, apparently). The assistants I have lunch with are older and thinking about retirement. Many of them begin sentences with, "When I was young this wouldn't be a problem, but now..." May I point out that I am young? I WANT TO WORK.
Now I just have to wait and see how long I'm going to last...
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