Dieting Data for the Easily Convinced

The following is a list of widely believed -- although not necessarily sound -- theories about food and weight gain.

1. If you break a chocolate bar into small segments and eat the entire block over a longish period of time (let's say, an hour) the total sum of calories ingested is lower than if you just downed the lot in one sitting. I totally subscribe to this point of view.

2. Food nibbled as you prepare a meal has no calorific quotient. It is only after the food is transferred to your dinner plate that it acquires any significance. Hear! Hear! I say.

3. Wine served in an extra large wine glass contains exactly the same number of calories as wine served in a standard wine glass. Interestingly, wine consumed from the extra large glass tends to make one more inebriated than the smaller glass, but this is only because the larger glass allows more air to ferment the wine, thus increasing the alcohol content. Cheers to that one too!

4. Food eaten whilst standing or moving about does not deposit fat. This is because the calories are immediately shunted to the muscles in your legs and feet, bypassing the digestive system and any regular fat storing mechanisms. Perfectly reasonable thinking.

5. Birthday cake has no calories. Especially if it is your own birthday. Same goes for birthday drinks. Hip Hip Hooray!

6. Low calorie drinks counteract the calories in normally fatty food, especially if eaten at the same sitting. (E.g. a burger with fries has no calories if washed down by Diet Coke).

7. Lollies eaten one at a time are so small that they are not noticed by the metabolic system, and are able to slip straight through the body without any fattening effect.

8. Any food which is labelled ‘Low Fat’ or ‘97% Fat Free’ can be consumed liberally. In fact, if they are low fat, why not have two or three of those creamy desserts? You will be feeling slimmer by the time you finish eating!

Actually, I am so impressed with these eight points, I am thinking of using them as part of my new Diet Club’s overall philosophy.

Our opening hours will be Breakfast Time, Lunch Time and Dinner Time and if you can’t find us at the Clubhouse …….just head down to the local bakery where we are probably toiling over Snack Time.

Bon Appetite!

There's an archeologist in my garden!

Ever wondered what historical events might have happened right here, in this very spot, hundreds of years ago? Or who might have lived and died here?

Perhaps it was the recent archeological dig at the Kelly ‘siege site’ in historical Glenrowan that set my curiosity buzzing. Or maybe it’s because I am a regular devotee of the wonderful Time Team program on ABC TV. (For those of you not familiar with this gem, it is a series in which a motley bunch of archeologists, anthropologists and other dirt-scraping-ologists come together to conduct super-quick archeological ‘digs’ all over Britain).

In any case, whatever has triggered it off, I have become rather enamoured with the idea of uncovering something of historical significance under the ground. I know it’s not terribly likely that I would find evidence of European settlement dating back more than a couple of hundred years here in Australia, but any artifacts pointing to human existence would suffice; I’m not a fussy little digger.

And so it was with this in mind that I was all atremble last weekend upon the surprise unearthing of an interesting looking ‘find’ in my own back yard. While digging a small trench alongside the driveway, my shovel clunked against something rather solid. I gently pushed it upwards until it finally released and plopped into the garden.

At first glance I thought it was just a rock but closer inspection revealed it was, in fact, an old piece of pottery. An early settlers’ cooking vessel? I mused. Or perhaps an earthenware jug from a convict settlement?

Rinsing my acquisition under the tap, my mind rushed forward to my glorious subsequent unearthing of the entire jug followed by a sacred burial site, a Roman aqueduct, a Paleolithic flint tool and the footings of a medieval castle.

I had visions of Time Team descending on my home; ‘geophys’ scouring every inch of my land with their mysterious devices; carbon daters dating; historians pouring over ‘tithe maps’ and scruffy looking gents in khaki jumpers with leather elbows arguing about the possible meaning of charcoal deposits under my clothesline. (I wouldn’t, of course, have the heart to tell them it was just the remains of a little misadventure with the BBQ).

I checked my fertile imagination and told myself my find was probably nothing to get too excited about. Although, even if it didn’t date quite as far back to warrant the Time Team's attention, I was at least sure I had found something of historical and practical virtue belonging to the old lady who lived in the house before us (i.e. probably a casserole dish). And even this gave me a buzz because the lady was pretty old which probably dated the casserole dish as circa 1966 or thereabouts — a veritable antique by today’s standards.

Anyway, I waited anxiously for the spouse to come home so I could show off my find. To my dismay he snorted when he saw it.

“It’s a bit of sewerage pipe,” he announced, matter-of-factly dropping my treasure into the wheelie bin. “Circa … Who Cares.”

And with that, my moment of archeological glory — much like my less-than-fascinating find —went……..well……..down the loo!

If I'm not Me, who is??

Some time ago in this column I mentioned that I had ‘Googled’ my own name and discovered that there are several other ‘Me’s’ around the world doing wonderful and interesting things (unlike Me Me who leads a pathetically boring existence whereby no one would probably ever bother Googling Me).

Well anyway, they were a many and varied bunch, those other Me’s — from a champion bridge player to a mathematician (I can’t tell you how ironic THAT is, but I’ll bet my Form 2 maths teacher would have a giggle).

But anyhoo, I thought the matter of alternate Me’s had finally been laid to rest until recently I was out of town on a shopping trip and intending to meet a friend for drinks afterwards.

Wandering around a large department store, I was busily examining dog toys (as you do when you're a tragic dog owner) when suddenly over the loudspeaker I heard my name being called!

What the??? I thought. Why would they be calling me to the Service Desk? Had I dropped my purse? Had my friend arrived early and was she looking for me? Had she never heard of mobile phones? Did I even have mine switched on? How did she know I was there in the first place? Was I late for drinks? Is there really a God? If so, does he do crossword puzzles? If so, does he ever get them wrong (being omnipotent and all)?

All of these thoughts whirred swiftly through my head upon hearing my name being summoned nasily. (Okay, I admit I didn’t really think about God and the crosswords but it’s something I have wondered about occasionally).

Anyway, I was about to hurry over to the Service Desk and announce myself when it suddenly occurred to me that maybe I wasn’t the only Me in the store. I furtively glanced in the direction of the Service Desk to see if there was anyone looking expectantly for a Me, but all was quiet and no one seemed to be frantically in search of anyone. I decided that perhaps I had misheard the name, so went back to my doggie shopping and eventually prepared to leave the store.

However, on my way through the checkout, curiosity got the better of me so I asked the cashier if there was, indeed, someone bearing my moniker who worked at the store. She glanced at the name on my credit card and smiled.

“Yeah, she works here! Would you like to meet her?”

“Is she tall, slim and gorgeous?” I wanted to ask, hoping that at least one Me in the world had fared well in the fab looks department.

Instead I said; “I’d like to meet her ….. but I’m afraid she might flatten me.”

Why? Because I had suddenly remembered that this alternate Me may have had to contend with some flack about Me Me and my (infamous?) Kitchen Philosopher column. It had never occurred to me that someone else might be being blamed for all the craziness.

The cashier eyed me in bewilderment as I quickly gathered up my goodies and made a hasty retreat.

“Give her my regards!” I called over my shoulder. “Oh, and tell her sorry!”

“What for?” called the cashier.

“If she reads the local rag, she probably already knows!”

Getting Abreast of Science

A few weeks ago, a friend who was visiting Canada sent me a very strange text message.

“Once again you’re ahead of your time,” it read. “Today here in Canada it’s ‘Boobquake Day”.

I wondered what on earth he was talking about so I quickly looked up ‘Boobquake’ on the web. I discovered that, in response to claims from a religious cleric that women who show cleavage are causing earthquakes by their provocative behaviour (or words to that effect), a young Canadian uni student had set down a challenge.

Her idea was to enlist the help of women everywhere to scientifically disprove the theory that seismic activity was linked to flashing a bit of ‘cleave’. While her boob-atious participants were encouraged to keep it tasteful, the message was clear; put the puppies on parade and let’s see if the earth moves!

However, while I’m sure the earth certainly may have moved for many of the happy male observers of the Boobquake phenomenon, the scientific evidence suggested no such movement on the part of the world’s tectonic plates. In fact, a scan of earthquake activity on Boobquake Day showed the seismology of the day could have barely snapped a bra strap, let alone dumped tall buildings into the bubbling earth’s core. Study complete. Cleavage clearly off the hook.

But you still might be wondering why my friend had linked me to a national day of boobology? And the answer is that, some months ago I had been involved in my own little cleavage incident.

While testing some video-conferencing equipment prior to a meeting, I was seated in front of a video screen while colleagues were beaming in ‘on-screen’ from Melbourne. As we tweaked the equipment – adjusting the sound and lighting – my Melbourne colleagues commented that it was a bit dark at my end and suggested I needed some more light in the room. I noted that the overhead lights were already on, so I did the logical thing and leaned forward over the screen to flick open the venetian blinds.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t occurred to me that the camera for the video equipment was actually located at the top of the screen (upon which I was casually leaning my chest as I adjusted the blinds). Thus by the time I stepped back from my chord-twirling activities and looked back at the screen, I found my city colleagues covering their faces in horror and laughing hysterically. Apparently they had just received an unbidden and inappropriately intimate guided tour of my C Cup!

Howls of laughter erupted as I (pointlessly by this stage) squealed and covered the offending portion of my personage. This incident (now known as Boob Cam) has become something of an office legend; the reverberations of which are still echoing around the hallways (and in my friend’s head, evidently, judging by his quickness to link me to Boobquake).

Well, anyway, I’m sure that, with a little therapy, my Melbourne colleagues will recover from the Boob Cam incident, but I do wonder how the religious cleric is coping after 200,000 women popped open their buttons on Boobquake Day.

Forget earthquakes; the poor chap probably had a heart attack when he saw all that jiggling flesh!

Well, anyway, I hope he’s learned his lesson: never mess with scientific chicks.

They’ll bring you ‘undone’ every time!

Do the iPod Shuffle

I suspect there’s probably a very good reason why nobody close to me has previously bothered to avail me of an iPod. That reason may be that the fusing of my ears to a musical source that is not being heard by anyone else in the room (train, shop or street) could be fraught with danger and/or embarrassment.

But apparently this factor must have paled into insignificance against the prospect of being able to obtain one of these devices cheaply from Duty Free. Thus, the spouse (disguised as Santa) last Christmas handed over the little blue scrap of metal and plastic. Big mistake!

Now, I am sure this particular drama must regularly play out in homes all across the world. Unsuspecting iPod-givers swiftly begin to rue their purchase as its proud new owner jigs pathetically around the house blurting out misinterpreted lyrics and off-key riffs. So surely I am not the only such song-murderer.

Well anyway, the spouse has been remarkably tolerant. Despite a few withering looks as I rumba, Latino style through the loungeroom while some vintage Santana pumps through my eardrums, he has held his tongue. Presumably this is because he knows that he is to blame. If he wasn’t such a cheapskate, he wouldn’t have dived so quickly on the offer of a cheap iPod.

However, tonight the pain must have been too much. There I was sitting at my computer, iPod Shuffle firmly plugged in ear and secretly marvelling, I must admit, at my fabulous multi-tasking capacity – typing and singing all at once! With the Dixie Chicks’ rendition of “Landslide” playing in my ears, I simultaneously sang (brilliantly of course!) and checked my emails while the spouse watched telly in the adjoining room.

Suddenly, somewhere between seeing “my reflection in the snooow-covered hiiiills” and the landslide “bringing me dooown” I noticed a muffled noise. Assuming it was the dogs on the verandah, I glanced up to see what they were doing. No dogs, so back I went to verbally twanging out a few banjo bars and a little bit of “maaaaaybeeee!” But there it was again; the muffled noise; only louder this time. It quite startled me, in fact (although not enough to entice me to pull out the earplugs). I turned to the spouse to see if he, too, had heard the offending noise. Clearly he had.

“Will you SHUT UP!” he was yelling. At ME. I dragged the earplugs out and looked quizzically at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“You!” he shouted. “I can’t hear the TV with all that racket!”

“Well, you bought it for me!” I huffed, “Did you really think it would be possible for me to not sing along?”

He just rolled his eyes and turned the telly up a bit louder.

Well anyway, sadly I think it must be a dodgy iPod Shuffle, for it’s suddenly stopped allowing me to shuffle at all. Seems my iPod Shuffle has become my “I’ll Podding-well Shuffle If I Feel Like It Shuffle” (much to the relief of the spouse).

“Oh, what a shame,” he says almost genuinely. “Perhaps I’ll buy you another one NEXT Christmas.

Perhaps he’s disappointed that he won’t be hearing my melodious tones anytime soon.

Well, “maaaaaaybeeeeee!”

(Or…um… maybe not).