My track record

I think after the last couple years we’ve had it's about time we all had some good news for a change. AmIrite? So here it is: I’ve lost around 15 lbs. in the last few weeks.

Now I know what you’re thinking: “But Jeff, you looked so fabulous to start with - a perfect physical specimen really - you didn’t need to lose any weight.” First of all, thank you for noticing.

Second, let’s remember I wear a lot of black and black is your friend.

And finally, despite how right I’d like to think you are, it’s a numbers game and I know the numbers.

What's the secret to my success? How have I done it? Well, besides cutting down on the food I jam in my piehole at all hours of the day and night, it hasn’t been too difficult. I’ve been using an app called My Fitness Pal to track everything I eat.

Doctors, the people who play them on television and the ones in real life, keep saying 2000 calories is the average for a grown man. So I've arbitrarily set the calories I can take in at 1920 a day. It was a fine year, and it's an even number. Next, I track what I eat religiously. I’m now on the 75th day of my tracking streak. Some days I go over the calorie limit, but it’s just one of the limits I go over on a regular basis.

”No officer, I didn’t see the sign.”

As far as those calories I get to have, I try to make them healthy ones, even if in the loosest sense of the word. Although it’s fine if they’re not entirely healthy as long as they fall in the count.

At least that's what I tell myself. And if we can't fool ourselves...

My Fitness Pal is owned by Under Armor, and has its own online community. Which means my weight fluxuations are probably all over the internet, in the cloud, available to Ukrainian hackers, coding classes and, as I like to think of myself, real athletes.

Anyway, wish me luck and continued success. If it all goes well, you’ll be seeing a lot less of me soon.

And while I'm not able to tell you exactly how many calories are in a black and white cookie from the deli, yet, I can tell you an In-N-Out Double Double protein-style is 520 calories.

Don’t ask how I know.

Going bananas

I broke a girl's heart today. Actually, more like shattered her world. I didn't take any pride in it. But it's not the first time it's happened and it probably won't be the last.

The why isn't the important part. It's the how. I told her how many calories are in a banana.

It's not something I planned, but somehow the truth always comes out. Especially when you're having casual office talk—as one does—about edible fruit that grows in bunches produced by several kinds of large herbaceous flowering plants in the genus Musa.

Did you know the banana is actually botanically a berry? You're welcome.

Anyway here's the thing: I've started logging all the food I shove into my piehole on an app called My Fitness Pal. The reasons are varied, everything from being tired of my doctors telling me to lose some weight (I get that a lot) to the three pairs of pants I can barely squeeze into looking at me, smiling, and saying, "Tight enough for you fat boy?"

One of the things this app does is break down the nutritional make up of the items on my daily menu. And because I happen to like a little Potassium In My Diet—capped because it was also the title of my first album—bananas are a morning staple.

When I entered it in the app, come to find out a medium sized banana is a 110 calories. I told this to my friend Nicole. Apparently, I've altered her world forever. And not in a good way.

Her thinking, and I have to say I agree, is that if there were any justice in the world bananas would only be around 60 or 70 calories. It's unimaginable they can cross over the century calorie mark. Yet the facts are what they are.

And if we start denying facts, it's a slippery slope (see what I did there?).

Anyway, on the bright side, there are many other ways to consume bananas that are a lot worse for you, calorically speaking. While you're looking at pictures of the high-calorie banana items below, I'll be in the kitchen drinking my eighth glass of water and choking down my third and last Ak Mak cracker for the day.

And swearing like a drunk longshoreman.

Body of work

When my pal Rich Siegel first saw this picture, his reaction was I should wear a hat more often. I know (think) he was kidding, but the funny part is even though I know that fabulous looking, thin, brutally handsome, dark haired guy on the left is me, or a former version of me, in my mind's eye I see myself as the guy on the right. I have issues.

Anyway, what you're looking at would be the before picture of me. Today's after picture would be an older—and by older I mean more distinguished and attractive—grayer (my dad went gray at 25, I never stood a chance), fuller version of myself. But nowhere near as full as the gentleman on the right.

Of course I'd be wearing black in both pictures, because, you know, black.

In my head, I've always felt like I was overweight, even though much to my everlovin' surprise I keep stumbling on to more pictures that prove otherwise. So the question is if I was that thin once, could I be that thin again?

And I'm starting to think the answer is fuck yeah.

For starters, it's not like someone stuck an air hose up my ass, tattooed Goodyear on it and sent me flying. I'm carrying slightly more weight than I should be, and might I add carrying it quite well. But I am getting tired of my doctor and my pants telling me to lose a little. So I'm making small, manageable changes to my routine I think will result in slow, steady progress towards getting me back into my 32-inch 34-inch waist pants that have been hanging in back of my closet since, well, that's not important right now. I know it's an ambitious goal, but if we can put a man on the moon...

Here are a few of the steps I'm taking to look as thin as Chandler did on season 3 of Friends.

Soda is off the menu. Mostly.

I've always loved Coke. And I used to drink a lot of it, but not so much anymore. I now go almost all week long without having one, or any soda for that matter, and try to stick strictly to water (preferably lemon flavored and carbonated). Sure I might have a sip or two of my son's soda at the movies on the weekend, but he gives me the side eye when I ask, doesn't like to share, and lets out a disapproving, judgmental sigh because I know he thinks it's just hastening my demise and he doesn't know where the insurance policies are. I'm just kidding. He knows exactly where they are.

Timing is everything.

Grazing used to be a 24/7 proposition. I think the electric bills were so high because of all the times I'd stand at the refrigerator with the doors open just staring, hoping something I wanted to eat would appear since the last time I opened the doors and stared. Ten minutes ago. Now, mealtimes punch a clock. Breakfast, lunch and dinner happen, with healthy snacks in between. But when dinner is over, the diner is closed and it's only water and Lipitor until morning.

Up the down staircase.

I work on the 2nd floor of my office, but I park on P2. I'll do the math for you—it works out to six flights of stairs. I'm excellent going down them, and getting better going up them, except when the weather is hot and humid. Since I sweat like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News anytime it gets over sixty degrees, I haven't abandoned the elevator just yet. But I do try to think about Rosalind Shays in L.A. Law when I press the up button, and that seems to motivate me to make the climb manually.

Staying in for lunch.

I'm a social animal. I like going out to eat, and spending tons of money I don't have on lunch. But the lunch hours they are a changin'. For a more than reasonable price, my friend Maria prepares clean meals for me to eat everyday. If you don't know, clean meals are just like healthy ones except they have flavor, fill you up and leave you excited about the next day's meal. Other people in the office have seen the meals Maria has been making for me, and asked if she can make meals for them too. She has a built in market for her budding business, and I'm ready to pony up the bucks to invest in her commercial kitchen. She's a clean-eating food empire waiting to happen.

Skipping is a good thing.

This three meals a day, food pyramid, five food groups bullshit is just the man's way of keeping you round. I'm learning to listen to my body more, which is good cause lately it's been doing a lot of talking. And it's saying, "Hey chubby, maybe you don't need lunch today." Maybe I don't. The new rule is if I'm not hungry, I'm not eating. And if I'm only a little hungry, then I just eat a little. Then I burn off some calories getting mad at my body for calling me chubby.

In addition to those steps, I'm making it a point to exercise more. I have an expensive mountain bike with flat tires sitting in the garage. I also have an expensive air compressor sitting there with it. I don't need a roadmap to see I'm minutes away from getting back in the saddle and biking all around town. Although I won't be doing it in bike shorts. No one needs to see that.

While I'm talking about exercise, I may as well mention I'm finally joining a gym. When I used to live in Santa Monica, I'd get up at six in the morning, walk over to the legendary Gold's Gym in Venice and work out surrounded by world-class body builders and steroid abusers. In fact my former personal trainer was a Mr. Nebraska. I could've found it intimidating, but instead it was inspiring. Being the Hollywood kid I am, one of the things I loved about Gold's was the occasional celebrity I'd see working out there. During the Gold's years, I like to say I worked out with Jeff Goldblum, Laura Dern, Jennifer Connelly, Keanu Reeves and the late, great Gregory Hines to namedrop a few. I'm not sure if they bragged about working out with me, but I like to think so.

Inspiration also happens on the local level. My once and always neighbor Sebastian just lost 35 lbs. and is still going. Other friends have lost weight as well, and somehow their lives seem to be going on just fine and no one appears to be going hungry.

So there you have it. I don't usually like to share about this particular topic, but I felt the picture called for it. I'm uncharacteristically optimistic, and looking forward to the new me.

But just in case things don't work out, I did ask Mr. Red Hat where he got his pants.

Hi honey

Being the perfect physical specimen I am, I've never been one to jump on health fad bandwagons. For example, you're not going to sucker me in with all that new age, unproven "eat well and exercise" propaganda. I may have been born, but it wasn't yesterday. I'm just not falling for it.

But I'll be the first to admit, every once in awhile something comes along that catches my interest, and makes me think I should get my flabby ass up out of my extremely comfortable T.V. chair and give it a go.

And if we know anything about me, it's that I do like to milkshake things up a bit (SWIDT?).

My art director partner, who eats mung bean salads, feels guilty when she doesn't go to the gym and takes long walks at lunch, decided she had to tell me—despite the fact I'm obviously in such perfect physical shape (did I mention that?)—about the wildly beneficial medicinal qualities of chocolate pound cake, black and white cookies and Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia.

No, wait. That wasn't it.

Oh right. She told me about Manuka honey.

I immediately called for a Lyft, had them drive me from my chair to my laptop and went straight to the Google to read all about it.

Come to find out Manuka honey comes from Manuka bushes (what're the odds?) which are found in New Zealand. This honey, more than any other, including the one that comes in that plastic bear bottle with the yellow cap, has been found to have all sorts of healthy and restorative benefits.

It's an anti-inflammatory.

It's rich in antibiotic properties.

Helps with low stomach acid and acid reflux.

Combats staph infections.

Treats burns, wounds and ulcers.

Prevents tooth decay and gingivitis.

Improves sore throats.

Boosts your immune system.

Helps allergies.

Improves sleep.

Because it helps sleep, it also lowers the risk of heart disease, type 2 diabetes, stroke and arthritis. And did I mention, you know, it's honey.

I could go into all the whammy-jammy about how Manuka honey is much higher in enzymes, which increases its nutritional profile by four times that of regular honey. But that's honey nerd talk, and may be a little more than anyone needs to know.

But for all the good Manuka honey does, there is some bad news: it's pricey. Very pricey.

An 8.8oz bottle rated UMF 20+ (which has the most benefits) like the one pictured above costs $64 on Amazon. And at a dosage of four teaspoons a day, it doesn't last near as long as I'd like. I suppose I could experiment with a smaller dosage. But I could also experiment with diet and exercise, and like I said before, I ain't falling into that cult.

Still, I'm going to bite the bullet, pony up and give this honey a chance.

Because if I can eliminate most of what ails me by eating a few spoonfuls of honey every day, that's a sweet deal no matter what it costs.

Whole hell

Eating the right things takes a discipline I greatly admire and sadly lack. I'd do it more often if I could, except I fear the shock of ingesting healthy food might be too much for my body.

However, like most people, I'm not going out of my way to actively search out food loaded with pesticides, food coloring and hormones.

By the way, how do you make a hormone?

If the chickens eggs come from are free-range and cruelty-free, I'm all for it. That being said, I think we can agree that after all is said and done, it's still food. And when it comes to food, there are some things that just go against the laws of nature.

Don't pay her (read back, it'll come to you).

On the way home from lunch today, my wife wanted to stop at Whole Foods. I wanted to wait in the car. Guess who won? I don't go in there very often because all that "healthy" food just makes me feel bad on so many levels. But today I'm glad I went in, if only to reinforce my decision not to go in all the other times.

I don't think I have to tell you people how much I love bacon. I've already told you here. Just to reiterate, you know what bacon has that's good for you? Nothing. That's why it's bacon. That's why it's awesome. If I wanted my bacon to be healthy, I wouldn't be eating bacon in the first place.

So when I saw this sign, it made me sicker than the chemicals in real bacon - you know, the good bacon. No one on God's green earth is eating bacon and thinking that it's healthy for them in some way. Selling a form of it that is, or trying to make people think that way is like putting earrings on a pig.

I know, it was a long run for a short slide. But worth it.

As I walked the aisles, I found myself wondering who hurt the store's food buyer when they were a child. Obviously someone did. How else do you explain the shelves being stocked to the rafters with things that should taste good, but don't.

Case in point: Pizza. Like bacon, pizza isn't supposed to be good for you or healthy or low-fat. It's supposed to be pizza.

It's also not supposed to be called Tofurky (actually that applies to anything you eat). Non-dairy cheese? Meatless and delicious? As if these words weren't enough to make your head (and stomach) hurt, there's one word on the box that's like Kryptonite to anyone who enjoys food with...what's the word?...oh yeah, flavor.

That word, reversed out in capital letters, is VEGAN.

Now, some of my best friends are vegans. Some of my better ones aren't. And some of my friends that once were are no longer.

I can appreciate not wanting to consume animal products in any form. And I'd never advocate cruelty to animals in any way. But here's the thing: when I'm having my burger at Five Guys, the truth is the cow was dead before I got there. I'm just seeing to it that he didn't die in vain.

Alas, even Whole Foods knows their shoppers aren't always disciplined enough to stay on the straight and narrow. They know occasionally, something from a real market must make its way to the floor, if only as a bait-and-switch lure to get customers to stock up on the Kale Chips.

Vegans like barley and oats, right?