ERIN GO BALI 1990

My first trip to Bali was in 1990. Kuta Beach was the island's most popular tourist destination for sea, sun, and fun. Being a pseudo-intellectual I opted for Ubud, an idyllic village reknown for Legong dancers, ornate temples, and non-disco evenings in bamboo cafes playing Balinese trance music.

I rented a small house off the Monkey Forest Road surrounded by verdant rice paddies. My bedroom overlooked a ravine whose fragile stream served the village's bathing needs. Ketut the house boy served breakfast and instant coffee in the morning. I wrote on a Brother Electric Typewriter. At night croaking frogs accompanied the gamelan music from the Pura Dalem temple. There was no international phone service other than at the post office. Traveler’s checks and cash were the sole forms of monetary transactions.

At night I listened to the BBC World News on a Sony World Radio and read tattered used books. Dragonflies buzzed through the room and the stars tolerated no earthly rival. I loved Ubud and stayed in the town for months.

Nearing March 17th I suggested to several westerners or ‘mistahs’ that we should staged a St. Patrick’s Day parade. None of them had Hibernian roots. My Balinese friends were enthused at the idea of celebrating Ireland's patron saint by drinking beer.

"And we wear green."

My house servant Ketut shook his head.

“Can not wear green. This unlucky color.”

“Unlucky.” He had used the Bahasa word ‘blog’. I had never heard it before.

"Yes, my uncle he have green car have many accidents.”

"Green is good luck in Ireland and Ireland is the European Bali."

"Ireland tidak Bali. No green and you not wear green too." Tuut was adamant about this edict, but said, "We drink beer and make music."

"That is good luck?"

"Drink beer always good luck."

Especially if a 'mistah' paid for it. I didn't argue with tradition and adjusted St. Patrick's Day in accordance with local customs.

On March 17th Ketut, his friend, and I drank Bintang beer at the Cafe Bali. They brought drums. I sang Irish ballads of British oppression and at sunset we marched down Monkey Forest Road with me singing BY THE RISING OF THE MOON. I adlibed the words.

Ketut said it was a sweet song.

“By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon."

Other Balinese joined the march. No one wore green. We trooped back to the Cafe Bali and switched from beer to 'arak', a strong palm wine. It wasn't as strong as Jamison's Whiskey, but it was a good drink for the first St. Patrick's Day in Ubud and I told Tuut, "Maybe one day you will wear green."

"Maybe a long time away from today."

"But not as far as never. Semoga Beruntung."

I thought that meant good luck and replied, "Go n-éirí an bóthar leat!"

At least I thought I said that.

Everyone clinked beer glasses.

I hadn't worn green either. It was bad luck in Bali and Indonesia in general since the color signified exorcism and infidelity. Satan was not in my soul and I was faithful to the world. The Wearing of the Green had to wait to someplace else.

It's a color close to my heart. Erin go bagh.

ps this was originally written in 2013

Belgium Beer Research

My first beer was a Miller in March 1965. I was almost thirteen. The end of winter. My three friends and I bought the beers from Red Tate. The town drunk. I can't recall now ever seeing him drunk. We drank the beer behind Our Aunt of Jesus Catholic Church. Two bottles each. I got sick and spewed out the beer like a whale breaching the surface of the ocean. I caem home and went to bed. My mother asked what was wrong. She had her suspicions. I said nothing.

On the following Sunday the old Irish pastor dedicated his sermon to the evils of teenage drinking. His God saw all and knew all just like the nuns. His warning came too late for me. I had already vowed to never again drink beer.

That pledge was later adjusted to never drinking Miller beer. My teenage friends were Bud fans. For me something was off about a beer hauled by the Clydesdales and I only drink it when there is nothing else available like at MLB baseball games and barbecues in Iowa. I preferred Nargangansett, locally brewed in Cranston, RI, which slids down my throat as smoothly as the Saco River over the rocks of Crawford Notch.

American beer has rightfully acquired a bad reputation thanks to Budweiser and Oscar Wilde according to a Tottenham Spurs fan once said, “I find American beer a bit like having sex in a canoe. It's fucking close to water.”

Over my youth I drunk Olympia, Coors, Busch, Iron City, Narragansett, Carling, Labatt, Molson, Pabst, and hundreds of other brews, until American beer was wiped off the menu by Heineken.

Soon I extended my exploration to foreign shores to taste the beer in their native surroundings. I drank Corona in the Yucatan, slugged down Karlsberg in Denmark, swilled 1664 in France, quaffed Tiger in Malaysia, soothed my thirst with Bintang in Indonesia, and savored Leo in Thailand along with beers from every country on my circumnavigations of the globe.  

I even created a special holiday for beer.

Beermas sounded good to my ears.

I celebrated it almost daily with pleasure.

I returned from overseas three years ago. My favorite bar was five blocks from my apartment. The lovely Chinese bartender served cold Stella-Artois in a glass. The clientele became my friends. I had downed several thousands of the beer at Frank’s Lounge on Fulton Street from August 2009 to September 2011, when I left the USA for Luxembourg to became the writer in residence at the British Embassey and told my fellow drinkers at Frank’s that I would return a better man, because my next destination bordered Belgium and nothing goes down better than the Trappist beers of that country.

Leffe, Duvel and Stella Artois are good supping beers, but they pale in comparison to the Achel, Dubbel, Chimay, Orval, and dark Rochefort. None of those brews are under 7% alcohol.

That autumn I trained west to Belgium, Charleroi to be exact. A crapped out coal town. My good friend from Florida Vonelli lived on the outskirts in a grand manse on the verge of collapse within earshot of the R3 autoroute, whose  eternal traffic hushed through the trees like a rush of a river. We enjoyed each other's coumpany and had since I first arrived in Paris in 1982. One sunny morning and there aren't many of those in Belgium that time of year, Vonelli announced it was time to visit the Aulne Monastery on the nearby Sambre River."  

"It's a walking distance away."    

It was not yet noon, but beer drinking was a sacrment in Belgium and we tramped out of Montigny-le-Tilleul on a wooded path to the river locks and drank a beer at La Guinguette. Just one. An Abbe d'Aulne blonde. Luscious.

The ruins of Aulne abbey overlooked the river. French revolutionay troops had sacked the Cistacian monastery in 1794. Not a single monk inhabited the property. As an atheist I was proud of their work, but not that they had destroyed the 50,000 books in the library.   

After wandering through the tumbled stones we retreated back to La Guinguette. We were the only diners, although two old women were supping on a dark beer. at least 7%. We ate a fine meal of , mussels, sole, and a crepe for dessert. Three courses cost $30. We drank three beers through the courses. I had never tasted better and we ordered a fourth to chase down the crepe.

"What I like about Belgium is seeing little old ladies drinking beer in the cafes at noon. It make me feel good." Vonelli has been living in Belgium for a number of good reasons. Beer was one of them.

"That's the only reason you live here?" The first sip of the fourth glass was as good as the fourth sip from the first beer.

"That and the beer."   

There were other attractions to Belgium and one of them was Charleroi, the ugliest city in all of Europe. It also had good beer. Beer defines Belgium as much as frites with mayonnaise. In fact beer was so popular in Belgium that a low-alcohol version was served in schools up to the 1970s.

When I returned to Luxembourg I ordered a Duvel for lunch with Cod fried in olive oil.

It's 8.5 % alcohol.

I think I'll have another.

I have no heavy machinery to operate in the afternoon or tomorrow either.

Another Happy Beermas.

From me and my son Fenway.  

Hoegaarten Beer - End of Summer

Written 2010

Beer is better than good in Belgium.

Back in the 80s when traveling to Brussels I drank in a small working-class bar behind the Gallerie des Reines. No one of consequences frequented the back street establishment. Seating for ten. Draft beer. Le Mort Subite and Hoegaarten. One great for winter. The other superb for summer.

The tradition survived to this day.

Temperature in New York is over 80.

The warm side of the summer equinox. Hoegaarten. My landlord AP had returned from a dinner. Thre empty beer bottles rested on my writing table. The window overlooking a dark alley. He criticized my relocation of older writing onto present logs. I told him that they had been re-written. AP reads me a lot. THe architect knows the truth. Writing and Art is not a speed game. They require thought.

Hoegaarten prevents thought.

At least constructive thought, unless the thinker considered setting his house on fire constructive.

Not really, so it is good spirited drinking for the autumnal equinox.

The pagans called it Mabon, a harvest holiday seeking to thank Mother Earth. The fridge had more beer. AP, my landlord, and I drank two Hoegaarten. Each. The Brooklyn sky was clear of stars.

The future was clear.

More beer until Beermas.

Beer Versus Jesus

Top Ten Reasons That Beer Is Better Than Jesus:-
a) No one will kill you for not drinking beer.
b) Beer doesn't tell you how to have sex.
c) They don't force beer on minors who cannot think for themselves.
d) Beer has never caused a major war.
e) When you have a beer you don't knock on people's doors trying to give it away.
f) Nobody has ever been burned at the stake, hanged or tortured over a beer.
g) You don't have to wait 2000 years for a second beer.
h) There are laws saying beer labels cannot lie to you.
I) You can prove you have a beer.
j) If you are devoted to beer then there are groups who can help you stop.

ps rick santorum doesn't drink beer

Jimmy Durante's Beer Mug

Andre the Giant was a huge man as anyone can tell from how small the beer can looks in his hand.

The champion pro wrestler was also a monstrous drinker once downing 199 beers in a sitting.

The American singer/pianist Jimmy Durante aka the Schnozzola also liked his beer.

And he loved his wife, Mrs. Calabash.

He was a man of the people.

No one remembers the Schnozz these days, but I honor all beer drinkers.

I don't think Jimmie Durante could have downed 199 beers. I can't either, but I love his 1944 hit I'LL BE SEEING YOU.

To view this song, please go to the following URL

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSzmuWImK7Q

Beer In Dubai

The following passage from the Qurʼan, Surah 5 severely condemns drinking alcohol and various other pleasures.

O you who believe! Intoxicants, gambling, al-ansāb, and al-azlām (arrows for seeking luck or decision) are an abomination of Shayṭān's (Satan's) handiwork. So avoid that in order that you may be successful.

Anyone found in possession of liquor in Saudi Arabia can be punished by up to 500 lashes and the Saudi are firm believers in the whip as well as the sword for beheading violators of Sharia.

Several Gulf emirates are less strict about the consumption of spirits and last week I purchased a Tiger beer at the Dubai Airport.

$13 for a half-liter.

The Emirates only hurt the wallet not the back, but beware.

Any traveler smelling of booze will be detained by Saudi security.

They really are a buzz kill.

Beer Versus Jesus

Top Ten Reasons That Beer Is Better Than Jesus:
a) No one will kill you for not drinking beer.
b) Beer doesn't tell you how to have sex.
c) They don't force beer on minors who cannot think for themselves.
d) Beer has never caused a major war.
e) When you have a beer you don't knock on people's doors trying to give it away.
f) Nobody has ever been burned at the stake, hanged or tortured over a beer.
g) You don't have to wait 2000 years for a second beer.
h) There are laws saying beer labels cannot lie to you.
I) You can prove you have a beer.
j) If you are devoted to beer then there are groups who can help you stop.

THE BEST FORM OF FLATTERY by Peter Nolan Smith

Several years ago midtown traffic was snarled by the security measures protecting foreign dignitaries from any harm during the annual UN General Assembly. Crosstown streets were closed east of 5th Avenue and a beeping tentacle of the congestion packed Madison Avenue. My bus took 20 minutes to cover ten blocks. I was late for a gallery opening on 78th Street and abandoned public transportation. My walking pace was accelerated by two panicked calls from my landlord AP and Billy O.

Our dinner guest, an Irish hedge fund banker, was on a 'craic'.

"This is polite society up here." Billy O was looking for clients. He was a real estate broker in the East End. Most people living above 72nd Street had money, especially in between Park and 5th Avenues. "I'm afraid that he's going to shag an old heiress."

"Would be the worst thing to happen to her? When I was living down in Palm Beach, I dreamed about seducing a wealthy octogenarian with three weeks to live."

"You would have given her the best two weeks of her life." Billy O and I went back to the 80s.

"At least." I was never stingy with love or lust given the right circumstances, however my time on Palm Beach had been off-season. Secondly those crones with money knew the game. Men fought over them at the Leopard Lounge. I was too much of an outsider to brake inside the circle.

Except for once.

"Hurry up." Billy O sounded desperate. "He's offering the owner a line of blow."

"Ten minutes."

I made it in 15.

The police had blockaded 72nd Street for the passage of POTUS. Obama was in town to speak at the UN. High-level conversations were scheduled between the Israelis, Palestinians, and our leader. Peace initiative # 257. The presidential cavalcade passed at 65 mph. A fast-moving target. I waved to what I guess was his car. My support for change remained strong.

I crossed 72nd Street and hurried the final six blocks to the gallery, which was located in a small townhouse. The crowd was gentile. The artist hailed from the Hamptons. Some of his paintings had crows in them.

Two women were complaining about the crows on their property.

"They're bad eating and worse as pets." A tall man in a Versace suit slurred from his slouch. It was Irish Johnny. His accent was pure Hollyfield drenched by the slobber of art wine.

The two middle-aged women in matching Chanel summer drag glanced over their sloped shoulders at the intruders. Their noses wrinkled with disdain. They had the expression down pat and clattered away from Irish Johnny in spiky stilettos.

Irish Johnny staggered to the bar and grabbed two glasses of Chablis. The first one lasted a second. The second balanced his careen through the gallery. His trousers were rolled to mid-calf and his sneakers were unlaced.

Thankfully he was drunk enough not to recognize me from drinking at an Eastdhampton bar a year ago. I didn't say hello, but nodded to Billy O and my landlord. They signaled to keep an eye on Irish Johnny. The banker was difficult work after closing time on the NYSE. I engaged him in a long conversation on John Kelly, Ireland's premier DJ, and drinking at the Shelbourne Hotel Bar. Irish Johnny couldn't have been happy and neither could the gallery owner.

The dead drunk was a member of the living drunk.

Billie O and AP schmoozzed the rich. They were a hard crowd to work, but the two had been laboring in the Hamptons for years.

AP spoke to a prospective new client. He owned a football team. His girlfriend was an old friend of mine. The connections were snaking together. It was time to leave. Irish Johnny was hitting on a painting.

"How much you want for one night?"

Billy O took charge. Irish Johnny was his boy. They proposed dinner at Danielle's. A posey place. I begged off that future. Billy O and AP said, "Come."

"Veni, vidi, ibam."

"I came, I saw, I went." Johnny Irish was a Latin scholar too.

I waved my goodbyes and walked to the 77th Street Subway. Lex Line to Bleecker Street. D train to Atlantic Avenue. Key in the front door at 8:23. I climbed the stairs to my apartment and wrote about Hoegaarten Beer. My wine-weakened fingers were slow on the keyboard.

A knock on my door.

AP.

He wanted to smoke some pot.

"Dinner was fantastic, but you were so right to go. He never broke open the bag of cocaine."

"Better to have a $20 bag with a friend than an 8-ball with a fiend."

AP and I smoke some weed. We drank some wine. We listened to garage rock, our favorite genre of music, although he loved the Beatles and I hated them as pop poseurs. At least we agreed that WORKING CLASS HERO by John Lennon was brilliant.

"You know I really love having you live here." AP considered me a NY legend as long as I paid my rent on time.

"Thanks." I loved living here too.

"No one in New York is like you now and no one writes like you, but I have to say one thing and that's you have been plundering old writing and putting it on your website as if it was new."

"So you noticed?"

"I'm one of your most faithful readers."

I had been adding stories to gain girth on treads of interest." It wasn't much of a defense for AP.

"You should be writing all the time."

"Agreed." I love writing on the 4th floor of his brownstone. My view of the Brooklyn skyline. The changes of the sunset. His kids sleeping on the lower floor. Their falling asleep to the MC5. "I'll try to be more original."

"No one is more original than you in these days." AP truly was a fan. "All I want to see is more new."

"Oof." More work.

A sign of the times.

"I promise to not rob the grave, unless it makes a nice flow."

We smoked more weed and drank the rest of his Hoegaartens.

They were good.

Skateboard Zepher Vixen

Beers included.

The First Words

The University of Reading in England has determined that two dozen words have survived the fifteen millennium since the end of the recent Ice Age such as "You, hear me! Give this fire to that old man. Pull the black worm off the bark and give it to the mother. And no spitting in the ashes!" Conventional linguists suggest that Man spoke in grunts during the Ice Age, however revolutionists argue that Man always had a language albeit with Euro-Asian roots. Father evolved from pere in French pater in Latin and pitar in Sanskrit, but none of these scientists are willing to admit that language 15,000 years ago existed on the tongues of those who survived the Big Cold. Beer and whiskey are the same around the world. Because we have always been drinkers. Happy Beermas, comrades of past. We are not animals.

Death By Gravity

Two days ago a LA man in his 60s was killed by the toppling of his basement refrigerator. To paraphrase the last line from KING KONG; "It was not beer that killed the man, but the beauty of beer."

THE BACK OF MIDDLE AGE by Peter Nolan Smith

Three years ago my friend George Wrage celebrated his 50th Birthday. I've known him since 1978. We worked together at Hurrah. I was the doorman and he was the ticket taker. We came up with the scam of reselling tickets for sell-outs. It was a good gig until another doorman snitched us out after we refused to cut him into the racket.

30 years of friendship and now George is 50. He was 20 in 1979.

"I'm middle-aged," He announced on the telephone.

"40 is the old age of youth and 50 is the youth of old age."

"You read that online."

"No, I heard it somewhere. I think it comes from Victor Hugo." The Frenchman wrote LES MISERABLES as a novel, not a musical."We're both middle-aged now."

"You don't get any argument from me about that."

Neither of us subscribed to the recent adage that '50 is the new 40'.

50 is 50, unless you're doing AIG math.

"I figure I've been middle-aged ever since someone called me 'mister'." George was seven years younger than me.

"The first time for me was teaching school in Boston. I was only 24." I substituted at South Boston High School during the busing riots of the 70s. "That's a little early."

"Not for teenagers. Remember WILD IN THE STREETS." George loved that movie in which teenagers take over the country after the senate changed the voting age to 12. "Never trust anyone over 30."

"Teenagers think I'm ancient, but my official inauguration into middle age was finding a brochure for a grave in my mailbox." The wall tomb for my ashes had a view of the Hudson. "But now I'm wondering when middle age ends."

"It has to be 62 or 65. You get senior benefits at those ages."

"62?" It was only five years away.

I couldn't be that old and I looked in the mirror.

Without my glasses I looked the same as always, then again the best lies are the ones you tell yourself.

"60's coming up really quick. The only benefit I want is half-price beer."

"You can get that at happy hour." East Village bars sell draft Stella for $3 from 3-8.

George doesn't drink and hasn't in years. He doesn't miss it.

Not that way he drank.

"Yeah, so maybe I'm already a senior."

"Don't rush it." George hung up. He was at work. I was unemployed.

A neo-senior bum.

THere was only one way to handle that fate and head over to Solas on East 9th Street. Even at 3 in the afternoon the bar is dark enough to believe your lies after a few beers and I drank my beers to make girls pretty and me younger.

Sometimes the illusion works if I get the chemistry right.

Happy Beermas

Oktoberfest is a High Holiday month for beer-drinkers around the world.

Your attendance is obligatory.

Drink Beer and drink it often.

It's good for you.

If you have any difficulties, please refer to the above chart.

It's a life-saver.

PLease click on it to enlarge, if you don't have good eye sight.

Beer As the Cure

BEER TROUBLESHOOTING GUIDE

SYMPTOM Feet cold and wet
CAUSE Glass Being held at incorrect angle.
CORRECTIVE ACTION Rotate glass so that open end points toward ceiling

SYMPTOM Feet warm and wet
CAUSE Improper Bladder Contro
CORRECTIVE ACTION Stand next to nearest dog, complain about lack of house training

SYMPTOM Beer unusually pale and tasteless
CAUSE a. Glass empty b. You're holding a Coors Lite
CORRECTIVE ACTION Get someone to buy you another beer

SYMPTOM Opposite wall covered with fluorescent lights
CAUSE You have fallen over backward
CORRECTIVE ACTION Have yourself lashed to bar

SYMPTOM Mouth contains cigarette butts, back of head covered with ashes
CAUSE You have fallen forward
CORRECTIVE ACTION See above

SYMPTOM Beer tasteless, front of your shirt is wet
CAUSE a. Mouth not open b. Glass applied to wrong part of face
CORRECTIVE ACTION Retire to restroom, practice in mirror

SYMPTOM Floor Blurred
CAUSE You are looking through bottom of empty glass
CORRECTIVE ACTION Get someone to buy you another beer

SYMPTOM Floor moving
CAUSE You are being carried out
CORRECTIVE ACTION Find out if you are being taken to another bar

SYMPTOM Room seems unusually dark
CAUSE Bar has closed
CORRECTIVE ACTION Confirm home address with bartender. If staff is gone, grab a six-pack to go and hit the nearest fire escape door. Run

SYMPTOM Taxi suddenly takes on colorful aspect and textures
CAUSE Beer consumption has exceeded personal limitations
CORRECTIVE ACTION Cover mouth, open window, stick head outside

SYMPTOM Everyone looks up to you and smiles
CAUSE You are dancing on the table
CORRECTIVE ACTION Fall on someone cushy-looking

SYMPTOM Beer is crystal-clear
CAUSE It's water! Somebody is trying to sober you up
CORRECTIVE ACTION Punch him

SYMPTOM People are standing around urinals, talking or putting on makeup
CAUSE You're in the ladies room
CORRECTIVE ACTION Do not use urinal! Excuse yourself, exit and try the next door down the hall. Try to get phone numbers (optional)

SYMPTOM Hands hurt, nose hurts, mind unusually clear
CAUSE You have been in a fight
CORRECTIVE ACTION Apologize to everyone you see, just in case it was them

SYMPTOM Don't recognize anyone, don't recognize the room you're in
CAUSE You've wandered into the wrong party
CORRECTIVE ACTION See if they have free beer

SYMPTOM Your bedroom is painted gray, has a concrete floor and an interesting steel door. Toilet may be conveniently located next to your bunk
CAUSE a. You're in jail b. You're in the navy
CORRECTIVE ACTION Sleep it off, you can always get out tomorrow. Don't talk to your new roommate, and under no circumstances sleep on your stomach

SYMPTOM Your singing sounds distorted
CAUSE The beer is too weak
CORRECTIVE ACTION Have more beer until your voice improves

SYMPTOM Don't remember the words to the song
CAUSE Beer is just right
CORRECTIVE ACTION Play air guitar

The Ghost Of Andre The Giant

According to friends Andre the Giant once drank 156 beers at a sitting. No one can substantiate this feat, since his drinking companions fell by the wayside in the scores. His ghost wants his beers during this Oktoberfest, so lift your beers to the Giant. To hear tales of his drinking please go to this URL http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Kwyb65J_d4

Oktoberfest 2012

Why did Doctor Nick instruct me to give up beer on the cusp of Oktoberfest?

It's a cruel world.

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Roofie The GOP

A lot of my liberal friends are shunning their GOP comptriots in this preseason of the presidential election. FH wrote on facebook the following; i am shocked that some of my friends are for Romney/Ryan .I am a total bad judge of character. If you are suddenly defriended you will know why. Enjoy you fantasy. I suggested to FH, a Bushwick painter, "Tell your friends this. Listen, I'm voting for Obama. You're voting for romney. Our votes cancel out each other, so let's not vote at all and save the gas and time on election day." If they're voting for Williard Romney then one or two of them will be stupid enough to believe you FH's friend wrote later "I have already gotten up from a couple of dinners and conversations never to return - when people mention that they are republicans. That is a filth/dirt/stain you cannot wash off." I'm much more forgiving. "I don't leave the table until I've drunk all the wine and then stiff them with the bill, plus I like calling them names and telling them once we repossess their homes for the revolution that we'll be shipping them to re-education camps. No more potato chips. No more SUVs. All their daughters will be strippers and their sons working as street sweepers along the highways, but even better is to roofie your GOP friends the night before the election or dose them with LSD so they see the light. It's all about hope, isn't it?

Health Advice For Beer Worshippers

Over the last ten years the Bangkok-Pattaya Hospital on Sukhumvit has expanded east, west, north, and south as well as up into the sky to handle the expanding community of western and Thai retirees making up a greater segment of the resort's population. One extension had been named the Gra-dai teung sawan or Stairway to Heaven Wing and last year I spoke with several Thai doctors about the influx of sick farangs.

Most believed that the new wing could only help the health of the Pattaya residents, although one doctor bucked the entire trend of health addicts and wrote up the following advice to the bar stool sitters of Pattaya.

HEALTH QUESTION AND ANSWER SESSION

Q: I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life; is this
true?

A: Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that's it... don't
waste them on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your
heart will not make you live longer; that's like saying you can extend the
life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live longer? Take a nap.

Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?

A: You must grasp logistical efficiencies. What does a cow eat? Hay
and corn. And what are these? Vegetables. So a steak is nothing more than
an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system. Need
grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass (green leafy
vegetable). And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended
daily allowance of vegetable products.

Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?

A: No, not at all. Wine is made from fruit. Brandy is distilled wine,
that means they take the water out of the fruity bit so you get even more
of the goodness that way. Beer is also made out of grain. Bottoms up!

Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?

A: Well, if you have a body and you have fat, your ratio is one
to one. If you have two bodies, your ratio is two to one, etc.

Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular
exercise program?

A: Can't think of a single one, sorry. My philosophy is: No
Pain...Good!

Q: Aren't fried foods bad for you?

A: YOU'RE NOT LISTENING!!!... Foods are fried these days in
vegetable oil. In fact, they're permeated in it. How could getting more
vegetables be bad for you?

Q: Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around
the middle?

A: Definitely not! When you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger.
You should only be doing sit-ups if you want a bigger stomach.

Q: Is chocolate bad for me?

A: Are you crazy? HELLO Cocoa beans! Another vegetable!!! It's
the best feel-good food around!

Q: Is swimming good for your figure?

A: If swimming is good for your figure, explain whales to me.

Q: Is getting in-shape important for my lifestyle?

A: Hey! 'Round' is a shape!

The doctor ended this session with the following advice.

I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may have
had about food and diets.

And remember:

"Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of
arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather
to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand - chocolate in the other -
body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO, What a
Ride"