I sneer with characteristic arrogance and self-righteousness when I hear people speak of going on a diet. That’s crap, my friends, it’s a fundamental mistake. You want to get in shape? I can’t hear you. I said, do you want to get in shape and stay that way? OK good. Now understand this first: you don’t “go on a diet,” because go on implies go off. You adopt sane eating habits. (Note the period at the end of the preceding sentence.) That’s step one.
Next, work out. If you claim you don’t have time, then sorry, you’re out of luck. Don’t complain to me when your clothes strain to contain your fat. If your problem is that you don’t like perspiration and exertion and raising your heart rate — that is, if you try to excuse yourself on the grounds that you’re too lazy — then you need a thorough brainwashing. You need to learn to love it, as Winston what’s-its learns to love Big Brother at the end of 1984. I guarantee you that once you win this Orwellian victory over yourself, it will literally be harder not to work out than to work out. Your brain starts to demand it and next thing you know you are strapping up and hitting the street to go running — or walking, that’ll work too.
Oh by the way. My program — which, modesty aside, is marvelously effective — costs me the price of a pair of shoes every nine months or so. I don’t pay for gyms, personal trainers, or any of that shit. For cardiovascular I put on my shoes, go out my front door and run. For strength training I do body-weight stuff on my lunch break with the playground equipment in a park near where I work, and I do it close to five times per week, even through the winter (those mild global warming New York City winters are a boon).
This is what we call a lifestyle, to use a term that makes me want to puke, but it has its uses. It’s a question of permanent, consistent behavior, not something you do for a while until you reach a goal and then stop.

It seems that several times a month my so-called Health Maintenance Organization Blue Cross/Blue Shield finds a reason to send me a document they call an Explanation of Benefits.

I don’t think I am a total and complete moron. I can read and write; I have two Masters Degrees; I have to my credit one or two other intellectual accomplishments that require a certain level of cognitive functioning. But I cannot for the life of me decipher the Explanation of Benefits, and not for want of good faith effort. You see, many “providers” and all insurers will fuck you at every turn if you let them — that’s my philosophy — so I really want to know what they are trying to tell me, and I can’t figure it out. Perhaps the oddest thing they do is tell you that you both do and do not owe the provider $228.73. Which is it?

Sure, you can call Blue Cross/Blue Shield during regular business hours and navigate the voice mail tree, eventually coming to a recorded disclaimer that tells you — with breathtaking chutzpah — that whatever the human “customer service” drone is about to tell you may be a lie. That pretty much goes without saying these days, doesn’t it?

Finally you start to question your assumptions. They call it an Explanation but you can’t understand it despite your best efforts. Perhaps it’s not really intended as an explanation at all! And the typical purpose of this non-bill is to tell you how much they will not pay — quite the opposite of Benefits. The very name of this document, Explanation of Benefits, is a lie. The only honest part is the preposition “of.” Let’s strike Explanation in favor of Obfuscation, and… let’s see, what’s the opposite of benefit? Harm, calamity, misfortune, infliction, detriment… I think I will call it an Obfuscation of Detriments until I come up with something better.