Tag: self-improvement

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personal

OK, now what do I do?

Let’s not be crazy here

Me: Can you open this jar for me?
Her: Are your fingers bothering you again?
Me: Oh, yeah, like crazy.

I can’t eat peanut butter anymore.

Well, that’s not completely true – I can’t eat anywhere near the amount I’ve been eating for the past 12-15 years, which is about 1/3-to-1/2 cup a day.

On the positive side, I attribute my current overall health to the fact that a solid 1/2 of my entire diet is essentially beans, as peanuts are legumes.

BUT it turns out that peanut butter is obscenely high in Omega-6, which is not a good thing.

A 1/2 cup (approximately 128 grams) of peanut butter, has, on average:

  • Omega-6 Fatty Acids: ~18,000 mg to 20,000 mg (18 to 20 grams)
  • Omega-3 Fatty Acids: ~20 mg to 100 mg (0.02 to 0.1 grams)

Ideally, there should be a 1-to-1 ratio of Omega-6 to Omega-3, with the maximum being no more than 4-to-1.

But for the past decade-and-a-half, I’ve been eating roughly a 200:1 to 300:1 ratio of Omega-6 to Omega-3.

Yoikes!

Now the reason why this matters is because I’ve been struggling with both my back, and a ridic amount of arthritis in my hands.

Like, to the point that I bought a left-handed mouse only to not even be able to use that.

So, I did a little digging and remembered hearing that peanut butter can contribute to inflammation, which is how I discovered those stats about the Omega-6s vs. 3s.

Ergo, I stopped eating peanut butter about two weeks ago and switched to walnut butter and ALL the pain in my left hand went away completely and most of the pain in my right hand, save my index/mouse finger, which is greatly less pained.

Sigh.

Now I literally have about 10 pounds worth of peanut butter that I’ve gotta go through.

I’ve been limiting myself to a single tablespoon of peanut butter a day but eating canned fish every other day.

While Sara’s probably thrilled there’s less peanut butter all over the house, she’s less enthused about all the cans of fish that are now in the trash.

As for me, looks like I’ll have to take out another mortgage to be able to enjoy alla this walnut butter I’m gonna be having.

Him: You know, you could also just stop eating nut butters.
Me: Let’s not be crazy here.

Location: a fancy dinner for the Irish
Mood: sotted
Music: I’m on my knees looking for recipes (Spotify)
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Not an entry about knives

Er hat ein großes Messer

Sara: What do you call a reluctant potato?
Me: I’m not…
Her: A hesitator!
Me: (sighing) Yeah.

I don’t actually watch much television or movies, but I did when I was younger.

I’ve always preferred reading but my attention span is that of a gnat these days – I blame YouTube and the rise of quick online articles.

But I still read every night, and I’ve been really trying my darndest to get the kid to read – oh he came back from camp today, BTW.

Him: It’ll be so weird to wake up without all my friends around.
Me: Sure, but I’m here.
Him: Yeah. And I get to sleep in my own bed.
Me: Always a good thing in my book, kiddo.

Speaking of books, I realized that, not only does he not fully understand how much he’s losing when he doesn’t read, I don’t think most people fully understand how much we’re losing.

Worldwide literacy only happened around 1965 – which is when over 50% of the world could read.

Assuming that 25% of the world being literate is considered widespread literacy, that only happened around 1925 – almost exactly 100 years ago.

That means that reading as we know it today was really only prevalent as a human-based means of communication for almost exactly 100 years.

Assuming, arguendo, that homo sapiens have existed for 300,000 years, that means that we’ve only been reading for .033% of our existence – not even 1% of 1%.

(I have no idea why I have that picture but, there you go)

  • If I show you a knife, you see the knife, and think, knife!
  • If I show you a picture of a knife, you see the knife, and think, knife!
  • If I show you either the word messer or 刀, you probably don’t think of a knife.

But Messer means knife in German while 刀 means knife in Chinese.

To know that Messer means knife, you have to know:

  • The alphabet and the sounds each letter can potentially make.
  • That the letters m-e-s-s-e-r together make the sound “mess-er.”

Only after you know those two things, you can picture a knife. It’s an added layer of complexity.

But if I said, Er hat ein großes Messer, to understand that sentence, you need to know all the aformentioned AND what each word means individually, AND the grammar structure of that sentence.

Then, and only then, do you picture a man holding a large knife as the sentence reads, in English, He has a large knife.

That’s a huge number of mental steps to achieve one single picture – that of a man holding a large knife.

And this ability to construct such a picture has only happened in 0.033% of our entire existence as a species.

It may be that the ability to write and read was only a blip in time for our species. We may well regress to the point where we can only communicate via the spoken word like children.

And then our brains will lose something singularly unique on our planet, perhaps the universe.

The ability to turn seemingly random squiggly lines into vivid pictures and understanding in our heads is highly unnatural and special.

Because, as I told you years ago, language is telepathy.

On August 23, 2026, at 9:03PM, I wanted to make you think of a man with a knife in Germany from my small apartment here in Manhattan, New York, USA and you did.

If you really sit down and think about it, that is amazing.

And that is what we’re at risk of losing if the kid and his kids don’t read.

That’s something I find just profoundly sad.

Him: But I read already.
Me: Dude you ate, right? But you’re gonna want to eat again, yeah? Books feed your mind like food feeds your body. And if you don’t feed you body properly now, then you won’t grow up ok. It’s the same with reading.
Him: (sighing) OK, another 20 minutes and then can I play?
Me: Oh for…OK. Read for another 20 minutes and then you can play. But you gotta read, man. It’s so imporant, you don’t even know…

Location: getting sidetracked in Brooklyn with my treasure
Mood: more complete
Music: der hat ein Messer doch das Messer sieht man nicht (Spotify)
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We’re all children until 33

It is I

Me: I don’t think you’d recognize me back then with my glasses and double chin.
Her: I’ve seen pictures! I mean, sometimes I look and think, “Is that Logan?” But it’s gotta be, he’s the fat one!
Me: …
Her: What? You were a fat kid! You say it all the time!

When did you truly first feel like an adult?

As a kid, I woulda thought that I’d feel like an adult at 21. What a laugh.

Being at my mom’s place last week was interesting for a host of reasons, not least of which was that she immediately fell back into being my mom circa the late 1980s/early 1990s, and I resisted – as much as I could – doing the same.

That got me to thinking about an article I read recently where scientists had identified five distinct ages of the human brain over a lifetime

Now, I always felt like I was pretending to be an adult alla way up until I was 33 or so. That’s when the Reporter and I broke up and I decided I wanted to see what it was like to just date a lotta different women.

And I brought you along. See, I turned 33 in 2006, 20 years ago. Right when I started this blog.

Well, it turns out that it wasn’t all in my head.

The latest research shows that we all have four major mental changes in our lives that occur at: nine, 32, 66 and 83.

I have definitely seen my own kid change radically these past two years.

And I know that 2005-2007 were the most impactful years of my life up until that point in terms of personal growth – when I was 32 to 34. I met Alison when I 35 and I often told her that she wouldn’t have liked me if she had met me just a few years earlier.

Because I wasn’t the me that she met.

In some ways, after she died, I feel I reverted back to my old self for a (long) while. I remember thinking familiar thoughts from long ago for a while that I don’t anymore.

I have to thank Sara for pulling me back, honestly.

Years ago, I told you the story about St. Augustine.

The story is that St. Augustine was once this womanizer who once famously prayed, da mihi castitatem et continentiam…sed noli (“Grant me chastity and continence…but not yet”). It should be noted that he’s also the patron saint of brewers, as an aside.

Anywho, he was a frequent visitor of prostitutes before he changed his life around. Afterward, he went back to visit an old place and ran into a prostitute he used to know in that biblical way. He continued on his way so she tried to get his attention for his usual and called out to him, Augustine, it is I.

To which, he replied without stopping, Yes, but it is not I.

It’s the opposite for me.

I feel like I’m more like the me that I was before everything went down with Alison and my dad than I have in…well, I guess two years before all the madness started.

The last day I can remember – which isn’t necessary the last day it actually happened – when I felt the way I do now was when I was in Hell’s Hundred Acres so many years ago.

It’s almost as if I was lost in woods in winter all this time and found… well, not my way out, exactly.

Rather, it’s like I found a welcoming cabin – still in the winter, still in the woods, but it warm, cozy, and familiar. I could rest before the next part of my journey.

I’m grateful for the rest.

And I wonder what will happen with my head when I turn 66 for my next journey.

I hope I will still write about my terribly pedestrian life.

And I hope you’ll still read about my terribly pedestrian life.

Location: the studio for Scenic Fights
Mood: ex. haus. ted.
Music: the man I was before (Spotify)
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The things he carried

What they represent

The stuff I took from my sister a few weeks ago deserves its own entry here, but I wanted to talk about some things that I found that brought back so many memories.

See, I recall the picture of my mom that you see above, and the vocab cards were always in his wallet.

I didn’t know about the other two pictures.

It reminded me of the picture of my son’s sonogram that Alison carried around in her filofax.

She must have looked at that image a million times and dreamt of the life that she and he would have together.

Fuck.

But this entry isn’t about her but about my dad.

This Father’s Day, the kid gave me this card that he wrote up in Chinese school.

He kept his promise from Mother’s Day and handed me the card you see below.

Just like with the Mother’s Day card he gave me, he wrote on this one: Happy, happy, happy.

Only, this time, it really was. He handed it to me beaming.

Me: Why did you write, “Happy, Happy, Happy?”
Him: (shrugging) I dunno. Why aren’t you going to read it now?
Me: Because it’s not Father’s Day just yet. I wanna have something to read that day.
Him: Oh, ok!

And I saved it for that day, which is its own entry.

I think children don’t really know what their parents truly carry around with them.

Alison and my dad both carried around physical pictures of the things that they loved because that was the time they were born in – there were no smartphones, no jpegs, no MP4 files, no digital flashcards.

So, they picked the most special things to carry with them and those were my dad’s

I know that Alison stared at that sonogram a million times throughout the day.

My dad looked at my brother and me so many times that he had to laminate the picture you see above.

And the picture of all three kids was folded, so I know he kept it in his wallet.

Finally, that picture of my mom always made me realize just how much he loved her.

I’m guessing that he looked at that picture of my mom – prior to him cutting it – and thought:

She looks so beautiful. But this isn’t a good picture. I’ll just cut out her face because I want to look at it while I’m busy at work.

Now, I totally made up that conversation with my dad to himself.

But, lemme tell you, I would bet my entire pad that I’m 100% right.

Because he only had eyes for her – everything else could go away.

My dad wasn’t perfect, but he taught me how to be a good father and husband without talking about either.

He just did it – meaning he just was a good dad and was a good husband – so I could copy him.

I think those are the best dads and the kind I hope I am, or at least could be.

I told you, decades ago, that:

You don’t love a picture because of the paper it’s printed on.

You love a picture for what it represents.

These are the pictures and things my father loved.

As for us, we are so very lucky; I have an entire phone that has access to thousands of pictures and videos – of Sara, of the kid, of my family, of Alison.

I carry my phone wherever I go, which means that I carry them wherever I go.

My dad carried less than I did, I carry more than he did, but we loved every single one of them the same way.

And he carried those vocabulary cards because he loved learning and I love learning because he did.

Just like him, I always carry something that will make me a little smarter than I was yesterday.

Just like I carry him with me.

Sara: You ok?
Me: Yeah. (pause) I just miss my dad.
Her: Yeah. (thinking) What do you want for dinner tomorrow?
Me: (brightening) Oh man, carbs! Like maybe pasta? Or sushi? Or…noodles? I know! Indian food – rice, bread, potatoes…yeah.
Her: (laughing) It’s Father’s Day. You can have all that.
Me: Thanks, baby. (sighing) Thanks.
Her: (nodding gently) Anytime, Logan Lo. Anytime.

Location: Chinatown…with all the carbs
Mood: wistful
Music: 上を向いて歩こう (Spotify)
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I’m not exactly Chinese

Travelers, safe at home

Me: (years ago) It’s hard to explain. Essentially, it’s kinda like how Jewish Europeans were looked at by other Europeans. [My people] mainly look like everyone else but everyone else hated us for how different we were from them.
Lea, my Irish friend: (in her Irish accent) Ah, you’re a traveler!

When I was a kid, I read the Diary of Anne Frank, and it really messed with me. I only ever read it that one time because it shook me so much.

Couldn’t wrap my kid brain around it; I had Jewish friends and they looked exactly like all the other Caucasian kids.

This was from when we visited Vienna.

Remember that this was the 80s and, at that time, Asians were only starting to move into Queens so there weren’t a lotta us.

I remember thinking, “Man, white people are so weird. They hate and try to kill off an entire group of people just because they’re different.”

It wasn’t until way later that I discovered that this wasn’t limited to Jews and Europeans.

The Indians had their caste system, the Japanese had their Burakumin, and the Chinese – I later discovered – had…us.

You see, I’m not exactly Chinese in the same way that a Jewish citizen of France may or may not call themselves “French,” and/or “Jewish.”

My family – prior to my marrying Alison and then Sara – is 100% Hakka, which is what we called ourselves, for at least the last 700 years. This means that I’m genetically 100% Hakka.

Man, did I mess that up.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Just like the Irish called their itinerants “travelers,” the Hakka literally translates to “guest people.”

We were “guest people,” because no one wanted us, so we were essentially nomads

But we were called less savory things and treated even worse than that.

It was estimated that in during one reprisal, the Chinese killed 30,000 Hakka every single day for weeks.

That’s just a tiny bit of our story but essentially, people have been trying to kill or get rid of us for centuries.

That’s why so many Hakka are in Taiwan. There’s a dark explanation that I told for years and still tell.

We’re kinda like the Jews of China. No one wanted us and everyone was always trying to kill us. When there wasn’t any more China to escape to, we left the whole mainland and went to Taiwan. My parents went even further and came here.

But it’s true.

And it’s deeply imbedded into the psyche of many/most Hakka that the next reprisal could come at any day, so safety has always been a theme of this blog.

So too is embedded the concept of home, probably one of the top two or three recurring themes in this blog.

The place that this mindset shows up the most, though, is in our houses.

But, this entry’s getting long, so I’ll wrap it up in the next one.

Oh, but here are some pictures of classic Hakka food before I go.

Location: my little slice of the world
Mood: stressed
Music: I’ve been travellin’ a hard road (Spotify)
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Choosing not to age

The best one I can make

Him: You’re 50?!
Me: Well, 53 as of last week.
Him: I would have put you at 38 or so.
Me: It’s the toupee – people think the hair’s the most important thing but it’s really the glue that matters.
Him: (laughs) Besides good genes, do you do anything special?
Me: (shrugging) I just choose not to age.
Him: How does a guy choose not to age?

The Scenic Fights producers were pretty sweet and posted a nice birthday greeting for me on the YouTube channel.

Didn’t think they would tell the viewers my actual age since I figured they would want people to believe what they wanted to believe but they listed it after all.

What’s wild is that, as of this writing, I have 560 comments on the post, mainly with people either just wishing me well or wishing me well but also not believing that I’m 53.

The thing is that getting chronologically older isn’t a choice but getting biologically older is a choice and it’s one that people make every single day.

Half of it is that, because I was a fat kid, I’ve been watching what I put into my body since I was 12 years old – the same age as Sara’s kid now.

See, you make a choice every single time you pick something to put into your body.

Like when I was in college, in Dickson Hall, I lived with a hippie that refused to have a bagel.

Asked him why and he said, “Because a bagel has 35 grams of carbs and that’s more than my total for the day.”

It was the first time I’d ever heard the word, “carbs” so I went to the library (this was waaaaay before the internet) and got some books and read up on what that meant.

And I was mindful, since that random day, about how many carbs I ate.

Likewise, as a club promoter, I’d often end my nights at a diner on 3rd Avenue called the Around the Clock Diner – it’s long since closed.

Anywho, I remember that I went with some women after event and someone ordered this huge plate of chili cheese fries and I declined to have any.

Some girl: Logan’s always on a diet.
Some other girl: He doesn’t need to be on a diet.
Me: Yeah. That’s because I’m always on a diet.

I was still out with alla my friends.

I was still living the NYC young adult life.

I just was careful with what I let into my body and life.

Still am.

The other half is what we do with the roughly 28,260 days we all get.

I never stopped physically playing.

See, we call it “the gym” as adults, but my kid just asks, “Can I go outside and play?”

When I’m waving sticks and swords around or rolling around with people trying to not get strangled, I’m not really so much doing violence as I’m just…playing.

Like football is crazy violent. It’s also a game. It’s also play.

I chose not to age because I choose to never stop playing, which keeps my mind and body young.

It’s not a chore to go to the gym.

Because it’s not a chore to go play.

It’s the opposite of a chore, in fact. My kid understands that.

Shockingly few of my peers understand that.

Alla that is why getting chronologically old isn’t a choice but getting biologically older is.

We’re choosing with every food choice we make, the life we wanna live down the line.

And it all adds up, like Jacob Marley’s chains.

And like those chains, we wear the bodies we forge in life, bit by bit, cell by cell; we girded it on of our own free-will, and of our own free will, we wear it.

So, I am careful – very careful – with what I wear eat and do.

Because I believe this is the only life we get, so I want it to be the best one I can make it.

Although, on that note, I probably should cut back slightly on all that fiber.

Her: (turning to me) What happened to you in there!? Look at your hair!
Me: (exiting smallest room in my pad) It was an experience.
Her: Yes? Should I be jealous?
Me: No, you’ll always be my number one. (pause) Although that was a number two.
Her: (bursts out laughing) OK, ok. (wipes eyes) OK, you can put that in the blog.

Location: my desk, shooting a short as an experiment
Mood: busy!
Music: This life would just be so easy (Spotify)
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The Elusive Obvious Villain

Turns out, it was me all along

Me: You know what I realized recently?
Her: No, what?
Me: I never really thought of it but, I’m 52, which means that I’m over half-a-century old.
Her: That is how math works, Logan.
Me: (laughing) I’m aware. It’s just one of those elusive obvious things that are obvious once you think about it but completely invisible to you when you don’t.

Years ago, I once told you this apocryphal story about Columbus and how he was able to stand an egg up on one side by itself.

In the end, someone said that it was easy, to which Columbus was said to have replied, “Everything is easy once someone shows you how.”

A more succinct way of putting that it was simply something that was the elusive obvious:

Those things that are stupidly and patently obvious, if you just sat down and thought about it for little bit.

In many ways, this entire blog is fulla the elusive obvious.

Was talking with a buddy of mine the other day – we met in our 20s and he’s a couple of years older than me so he’s now in his mid-50s and I’m catching up.

With my birthday coming up, I’ve been finding myself looking back on my life and realizing a lot of things that shoulda been obvious to me but simply…weren’t.

Me: I’ve reached an age where…you know what I’ve realized?
Him: What?
Me: Looking back, in so many interactions, I was the villain in the story.
Him: I have that – mine were mostly with women.
Me: Some of mine as well. I mentioned that to someone once and she asked if I’d consider calling them to apologize. But what would that do? It’s really just to make me feel better, they probably just are happy that I’ve never reached out to them. Better to just let sleeping dogs lie.

It really is such a wild thing to look back with older, and calmer, eyes and realize that you were the villain in someone’s story.

The thing that’s been bothering me the most, lately, though was that I’d never really realized just how often it was me until only recently.

Yet again, the elusive obvious.

And with most elusive obvious things, once I’ve noticed it, I can’t un-notice it.

Location: The middle of the Atlantic
Mood: It’s tricky
Music: I’ve gone identity mad (Spotify)
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I kinda have high cholesterol

I mean I do, but…

Me: Well, the good news is that I called the doctor like you asked…
Her: OK…and the bad news?
Me: I may have told the office to go fuck themselves.
Her: You understand that this won’t help you get that appointment for your back.
Me: I am not unaware. In my defense, they deserved it. I did apologize to the unfortunate soul that was unlucky enough to pick up the phone.

I’m gonna be – Jesus Christ – 53 in a few weeks.

Up until Alison got sick, I used to always get my annual physical around my birthday but, like most things, that went out the window once she got sick.

Only just got back on track a year or two ago.

Which is a good thing because, as I get older, the things that are falling apart on me is increasing on the daily.

On that note, my cholesterol is now solidly in the “high” category BUT my HDL is pretty high, and my triglycerides are pretty low.

In the past, I’d be on statins now, but research seems to show that, if you have low triglycerides and a high HDL, your chance of getting a cardiac event is pretty low.

According to the American College of Cardiology’s Risk Estimator Plus, despite having a fairly high cholesterol level, my overall risk of getting a heart attack is only 0.6% higher than what they consider “optimal.”

I almost got a heart attack when the doc called me to tell me my test results, but it turns out that he’s just old school and likes to actually chat to his patients on the phone rather than just have his office email results.

Him: Do you eat a lot of red meat?
Me: Well, not particularly, just about…
Him: (interrupting) Try to limit it to once a week – ideally once every two weeks.
Me: OK, I’ll try but…
Him: (interrupting again) You’re a nice guy, I’d like you stick around.
Me: Frankly, I’d like to stick around too.

I wouldn’t say I’m a nice guy – I’m not a jerk but I’m hardly a nice guy either.

Case-in-point, my back is crap again and I tried to make an appointment, but they insisted that I come in for a third consultation – which is ridiculous, as they literally just see me for five minutes.

They screwed up two prior injection visits so with this last phone call, I may have gone went off on the poor soul that picked up the phone and told me that I’d have to get a consultation first before getting an injection.

I did apologize afterwards but I don’t think I’ll be heading back to that office again.

Her: (sighs) Do I need to start making appointments on your behalf?
Me: Evidently.

Honestly, I think that part of the reason that my cholesterol was so high was because I made a four-pound cut of corned beef and cabbage for St. Paddy’s day the night before my tests.

Looks like it’s gonna be a lotta fish and chicken in the Lo House moving forward.

Sigh.

Location: earlier today, Chinatown again – been busy with work
Mood: thoughtful
Music: I don’t want to stay here on my own (Spotify)
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Be different: Listen to new music

Avoiding Stasis

Friend: Honestly, music stopped being good after 2010.
Me: I dunno about that.
Her: There’s literally nothing I can stand on the radio anymore.

In 2015, Spotify looked at its user data and found that people stop listening to new music after the age of 33.

At least in the US.

See, in the UK, where they use something called Deezer, that company discovered that Britons stop listening to new music at 30…and a half.

What adult uses “and a half?”

In any case, my point being that, in nature, there are only three states: Growth, stasis, and decline.

Me?

I keep wanting to put as much (natural) space between me and decline as possible and that means avoiding stasis wherever and whenever possible.

That doesn’t just mean seeing old friends, working out, eating well, and doing some deep thinking.

It also means listening to new music, because, if I don’t, I’m at least in stasis, if not decline.

And I can’t have that.

Not when the kid’s this young.

Music is a unique art form because, unlike, say, a sculpture, which is carved, and then just exists, music is created and has to be played or performed.

But, as you hear it, it can be remembered, heard, and anticipated – you can guess a lyric or beat because music requires a rhythm of some sort – so that it exists in the entirety of time itself, past, present, and future all at once.

Music is profoundly human is because it’s the only artform that only exists entirely in time and disappears once it’s done as if it never existed at all.

Kinda like us.

So, with all due respect to my friend, listen to new music, and fight the stasis.

Him: You’ll come to my talent show? I’m playing XXXX.
Me: I love that song! And of course – have I missed one yet?
Him: No…
Me: Then I wouldn’t worry too much, kiddo.

For the past few years, I’ve put all the music from this blog into this Spotify playlist here, if you want some new tracks on the regular.

Or just keep reading and click on the music links below (I get a few cents if you end up buying the song on Amazon, just fyi).

Location: the bathroom, installing a bidet
Mood: bidet-ed
Music: they say you know when you know (Spotify)
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66 days of nuttiness

All about focus and dedication

Me: Hola! Thanks so much for inviting us, as always. We had a grand time and the kids – especially Sara’s kid, since it was his first time – loved the red envelope portion, LOL.
Annabel: Thanks Logan! It was great seeing you all again. Will never forget [Sara’s son] rejecting a second red envelope!

Went over to Annabel and John’s the other day to celebrate Lunar New Year – also saw my mom and A-MIL but that’s gonna be a post for another time.

We weren’t able to see Annabel last year for new year’s, so it was nice that we went this year, plus it was the first time that Sara’s son went there.

Me: You two should go learn how to make dumplings.
Son: But, I know how to make them!
Me: Then you should be a pro at it. Off to it.

Honestly, they did a pretty good job.

We had a pretty late lunch – where I had THREE large burgers – so we weren’t planning on eating much but the food was so good, I definitely ate a lot more than I intended to.

Sara: I swear you have a wooden leg.
Me: It’s all about focus and dedication, baby.

But everyone had fun and, at the end, the adults all handed out red envelopes to the kids.

Sara’s kid had only gotten red envelopes once before from me and only one envelope, so I think he thought he was only supposed to get one – bless that kid’s heart.

So, he politely declined a second one from Annabel, which they found hilarious.

As did we.

Him: How?
Me: How what?
Him: How do you eat peanut butter and lose weight?

It never occurred to me that I never told you how I eat peanut butter.

Essentially, whenever I have a sweet – most often some sorta homemade baked good by Sara, like a low-carb chocolate chip oatmeal cookie – I will pair that with a cup of coffee with MCT oil (for additional fat), and at least 3-4 HEAPING tablespoons of peanut butter.

I’m usually so full from that that it’s my typical brekkie.

For lunch, it’s either a can of sardines/salmon with some kimchi, some of Sara’s homemade whole wheat sourdough bread with peanut butter or cream cheese, and a cup of matcha, or a repeat of brekkie with peanut butter or 1/3 of a cup of cashews.

Then dinner…well, dinner is when I eat anything and everything, although with lots of veggies.

If I have a huge lunch, then I usually just have peanut butter and something for dinner.

Now, if you want a super easy way to do it as a delicious add-on to whatever you’re doing, try this at least 10 minutes before every meal, but no more than 30:

    • A full glass of water between 8-12 ounces
    • 1-2 heaping tablespoons of peanut/walnut/nut butter

Just doing that should cut your weight substantially for a number of reasons:

    • You’re adding protein, fat, and fiber to your system before your main meal, which will definitely curb your appetite.
    • You’re also literally taking up room in your stomach with the volume of the water and the peanut butter.
    • The sugar sensation of the chocolate/honey also satisfies cravings.
    • As the video I posted in my last entry noted, peanuts/peanut butter takes a lot of energy to digest in general, further taxing your body, in a good way.

It takes about 66 days for something to become a habit, according to a study from The University College London so if you try to do it, do it for at least two months.

Anywho, give it a whirl; I’ve literally never read about this anywhere else ever, but I know that it works because…well, science.

Plus, it’s dirt cheap and if it doesn’t work for you, just stop.

But, yeah, it works.

Location: Chinatown, listening to fireworks and having carbs
Mood: stuffed
Music: I’m on my knees looking for recipes (Spotify)
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