The happy bell-shaped curve of life
By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
The “normal curve” or normal distribution that has ruled Nature ever since G-d molded mud into the shape of planets has somehow deserted us. Oh, it still accurately reflects everything from the size of oak trees to the weight of chipmunks. You know the curve – a few extremists on each tail – the major bulge in the middle. It reflects everything in nature.
The curve rules except for one crucial factor that has made plutocrats of some and suckers of others – weight: fat, flesh that cushions the human bone. When it comes to weight that famous bell-shaped curve turns into a huge bulge where the number of fat, happy people numerically live on the fat side of the fat end of the graph.
Yes, I said happy. If someone asked you for a quick reflexive answer to who’s happier – the skinnies or the cherubically plump – I’m betting on the heavyweights. And if there’s truth that fat cuts longevity, who says a thick chunk of lemon pie a couple of times a week isn’t a splendidly logical tradeoff for a week of this harried existence we call life? Or a cheeseburger with mayonnaise for a month? (There’s a new, sacrificial dictionary listing the mortality price of all such treats.)
Furthermore, the fickle nature of medical science may have it all wrong. St. Peter or Elijah – depending on your otherworld view – may greet you with: “Hello, Ted, we expected you last year, since you kept shoveling in mashed potatoes, rib steak and gravy. Well, far better late than never.”
And isn’t it strange that our Bible – the index of humanity – never, to my memory, condemns the fat, happy breed? And in its comprehensive list of sins there is never a mention about lemon pie with ice cream, though it does have a brief word or two about gluttony.
How do you explain the fact that though we live in an era of bloated prosperity (“Have another helping”), human longevity continues to increase?
And the more you eat, the more likely you’re getting all the vitamins and minerals your body craves. And I seem to remember an experiment in which two-year-olds were allowed to pillage a food pile. And guess what? Uninfluenced by the culture, their infantile bodies chose a well-balanced array of foods.
Me, too. I listen to my body. When it says I should top off my double hamburger soaked in catsup with apple pie a la mode, I obey!
There must be more diets than there are calories in a bucket full of chocolate syrup. And all use the same lie of the doctor bending over the arm of his young patient. “This won’t hurt a bit.” Not true.
To give up lemon icebox pie DOES hurt. The same can be said for 1,000 other treats that make life a delight instead of an obstacle course. In fact, if “it doesn’t hurt”, you need a thorough check-up by a doctor who’s not on the payroll of a diet company.
Your body needs lemon icebox pie – in moderation. If your mind has taken over your body and demands three wedges of pie, it’s just looking for thrills. So try something else.
I have come up with the “Substitution” diet. As my wife reaches for her second lamb chop, I “accidently” knock the platter off the table.
“Let’s go to the movies,” I suggest.
“Can we get popcorn?” she replies.
Movies are no longer safe. They are veritable buffets with nachos, sandwiches, plus the usual popcorn and candy. Lovemaking, too, is a great substitute. Or making money, or reading an inspiring book. Or even doing a good deed. Go visit old, cranky, demanding Aunt Elsie who instead of welcoming you with open arms, insists you wipe your clean feet on the doormat. Your mind, while reflecting on your virtue (how unselfish of you to visit this hag) will immediately drop its yearning for that third piece of pie.
There in the simple example above you have the essence – no books to buy, no pills – of my un-patented diet. The substitution diet, I call it. Instead of surplus food, substitute a thrill in another dimension. Forget the second lamb chop. Hug your wife (if you can get your arms around her).
All of the above is for enlightenment of our readership. But a word of warning: please don’t try it all at once at home.
