I don’t have a weight problem. There are people who can work their asses off to lose weight only to find that their genetics conspire against their best efforts. I’m not one of those people. I can lose weight – I just have a problem with getting off my fat ass. What can I say? I’m just a lazy fuck.

When I apply myself in the pursuit of better health, I get good-to-great results. But I know I’m not expressing anything new here when I write that eating right and working out aren’t nearly as interesting or fun as eating garbage food and laying around. There are two many DVD’s to watch, and too much pizza to consume while doing so. And I’ve always been able to justify my position by reframing the negative as “I busy myself professionally; the down-time is mine to do with as I please.”

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Mistake this not as a request for your sympathy; I don’t deserve it, nor do I require it. I’m a lard-ass; I know it. I put myself in this position, and I’ll dig myself out. Just letting you know that, from here on in, Monday will be the blog day in which I write about what I’ve lost (if I’ve lost), and what I want to eat so badly that I’d be willing to step on all your necks just to get a taste… but won’t, because I’m committed to a cause.

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So follow my triumphs and failures on the road to 230 (God, how sad is that? I’m sure most of you see 230 as abject failure, while I see it as a long, hard road to travel toward), every Monday, right here, in a blog I’ll call “Fat-Fuck Vs. Food.”