The Subway Diet
By Marc Cappelletti

Jared did it. The guy ate nothing but Subway sandwiches and lost a ridiculous amount of weight. Basically, there used to be two Jareds and now there is only one, and he is a very well-paid spokesman for the company. What you may not know about Jared is that behind his cheap little thin-lipped grin is a foot-long sandwich full of lies.

The first time I saw Jared hold up his oversized pleated pants and proclaim that he shed the weight simply by eating at Subway I was inspired. Who wouldn’t be?  In a world with dangerous dieting side effects like “gas with oily spotting” and “ more frequent stools that may be hard to control,” the opportunity to lose weight without requiring a second pair of pants is quite the easy sell.

Now, I stand at a perfectly average 5 foot 10 inches. When Jared entered my life I weighed in at about two hundred and sixty pounds. That’s a little on the husky side, sort of early Saturday Night Live Chris Farleyish – far from his jacket-splitting Tommy Boy years and beyond. I used to think I was fine considering I hadn’t worked out since my days as a JV high school pitcher. But after a few too many Friday night tables for one and a janitorial request to reinforce my chair at work I decided plain and simple it was time to shed some pounds. I looked to Jared for advice.

My dieting began just like any other structured self help program begins – taking firm control of my life one five dollar foot long at a time. I remember that first day so vividly. The energy I felt when I walked into Subway at 9am for my breakfast sandwich was like nothing I had felt before. I remember the bread was warm, the first fresh batch out of the oven. The meatballs were cooked to perfection and the provolone melted ever so slightly inside the sandwich, filling the crevasses between each meatball and the bread that contained them. Every bite was like a revelation. Every swallow a comforting pat on the back.

When I got to work I was in such good spirits that I took the stairs for the first time since the elevator broke a year or so before. The morning passed quickly and when lunchtime came I wasn’t hungry. The foot-long meatball sub at breakfast was filling enough for two meals, but this was lunchtime and they say that skipping meals alters the body’s natural metabolism. This can actually contribute to weight gain, so I needed to eat.

I had never tried a blue cheese buffalo chicken sandwich before, but thought that this was as good a time as any to infuse my life, and my body, with new things. Within minutes I was chomping down on a pound of boneless chicken smothered in hot sauce and topped with chunky bleu cheese dressing all in sandwich form. I had to pat my face with a napkin every time that orangey buffalo sauce came over the corners of my mouth. It can burn if you leave it their too long. I returned to work stuffed like a Puerto Vallarta piñata saying to myself, “Who knew that healthy living could be this filling?”

Dinner went much the same way – a four-meat, turkey, salami, ham and roast beef super sub on herb and cheese bread. After I finished I sat down on the couch and noted the day’s intake in my Food Journal. It’s a fact that people who write down what they eat are more conscious about their health and consequently lose more weight than those who don’t. All that writing about food eventually made me hungry, so I went to the kitchen for my typical late night snack of a banana with peanut butter. Then I though, what would Jared do?

Thankfully Subway is open late night, because I no doubt would have starved without a snack. I ordered up a chicken and bacon ranch sandwich, which has long been a favorite of mine. And this being the culmination of my first day on the Subway diet, I treated myself by ordering the value meal, which came with a large Coke and my choice of two cookies or a bag of chips. I went for the cookies. This was, I admit, a bit of a dieting splurge, but hey, we all can’t all be Kate Moss now can we?

My regiment of four, sometimes five Subway sandwiches a day continued for the next eight months, culminating in dramatic results. In the same time it took for Jared to lose one hundred pounds I developed a chronic sweat disorder, outgrew any type of clothing made for humans and was fired from my job when I could no longer fit through my front door.

I knew it was time to see a doctor when an itch forced me to discover a meatball sub that I had somehow stored in between my second roll of hip fat and the curtains I had tied around my waist as pants. How it got there I don’t remember, but do remember the consequent trip to the hospital going smoothly. The police were surprisingly adept at cutting away an extra two feet on either side of my front door and the crane operator’s sense of humor shined through when he said, “This crane can only lift so much weight fatass! Don’t squirm or you’ll bend the shaft!”

At the hospital the doctors were forced to weigh me via the displacement method in a pool intended for use by rehabbing paraplegics. Ninety gallons of water poured over the edges when they rolled me in, shorting out some guy’s motorized wheel chair. The doctor calculated my weight at 723 pounds.

All things being equal, I had put on four hundred and eighty pounds of meaty, cheesy, toasted bread weight and it was all because of Jared and his horrible, horrible diet.

Due to a pending lawsuit against Subway I am no longer at liberty to go into every detail of my situation but I can say this: that pleated pants, polo shirt wearing idiot of a spokesperson is not to be trusted. How the Subway diet worked for him I’ll never know. Also, just to show you that I’m not suing out of selfish retribution, I plan to donate every cent of the million-dollar suit to Overeaters Anonymous, a group to which I am now a contented member.

I must cut this letter short, as I hear my doctor being paged over the intercom. In a few short minutes I’ll be on my way to healthy weight loss the way many new dieting programs begin – one life-threatening surgery at a time.

Never before had I felt the magnetic pull of home as strongly as I did on Wednesday night. Text messages, phone calls and emails were flying into my New York City apartment shouting, “We won!” “Go Phils!” and “Phileeeeeeeeees!”

The win wasn’t news to me. At the time I was rolling around on my dusty floor, half crying, yelling the same celebrations. The television was cranked up, blaring the stadium crowd noise and showing player after player jumping on Brad Lidge in supreme jubilation. There was no place I would have rather been than the place I grew up, Philadelphia.

            Having been born mere days before the Phillies won their 1980 championship, and having spent most of my life on a baseball field, I am affected, like most Philadelphians, by the plight of this team. So if there was ever a time to celebrate, this was it.

When I went outside I found the streets empty, as empty as New York streets can be. The chatter at most bars revolved around the stock market, with guys in suits too big for them and ties too tight around their necks cheersing an up day. The televisions had already been turned to analysts bickering over Barack Obama’s evening message. No one made mention of William Penn, Geoff Jenkins, or the Flyin’ Hawaiian.  The flying what? Saddest of all, not one person said, “I remember when…” and went on to talk about where they were the last time they felt this sort of Philadelphia pride.

I’ve traveled to some pretty distant places in my life. But I’ve never felt so far from home, so far from people who “understand,” than being just 95 miles from Center City.

What does this victory mean for Philadelphians no longer living near the Schuylkill? For starters, we finally have something to gloat about – fuel to fight the sports fires of our current resident cities. New Yorkers, Bostonians, whatever people in L.A. are called, get ready. We don’t have to listen to you anymore. It’s our time. And just because we don’t live in Philadelphia doesn’t mean that we can’t act like we do.

But if we want to get the best of both worlds, this is the best reason we’ll ever have to come home – or at least visit. How many Yuenglings have you downed to erase the memory of a last second loss? How many cheesesteaks have you eaten out of frustration? With or without?  You see, this is our chance to experience all that makes us happy with the timing and celebratory energy to boot. There are no qualifiers this week. There are no maybes.  No “Yeah, but…”s.  There is no better time to be a Philadelphian in Philadelphia.

So, congratulations Phillies and the city of Philadelphia. See you at the parade.

I’m turning 28 this weekend. No big deal, I thought. With a world lifespan of 66 years I should be just part of the way into a pretty decent run. Then I came across this chart (courtesy of Wikipedia) and I realized that 28 is a big deal, or at least it used to be. Apparently, with this birthday of mine, I would be reaching the peak of senior citizenship in all but two eras listed. In ancient Rome and Greece I would be refered to as “old dude.” Little known fact: Pliny the Elder was 19 and living with his mother when he died. Looking back through time, I would be the Abe Vigota of the Bronze Age; the Moses of Medeival Britain.

Humans by Era	Average Lifespan at Birth (years)
Neanderthal	20
Upper Paleolithic	33
Neolithic	20
Bronze Age	18
Classical Greece	20-30
Classical Rome	20-30
Pre-Columbian North America	25-35
Medieval Britain	20-30
Early 20th Century	30-40
Current world average	66.12 (2008 est.)

How incredibly the advent of modern medicine has changed life expectancy for those off us fortunate enough to have access. It’s something to be celebrated. So this year, instead of toasting myself, I’ll be toasting Penicillin, Preventile inhalers, Amoxacilin, and all the meds that have put me squarely in the percentile of “youthful,” instead of the “old guy with the saggy toga who sits on his front porch widdling wooden chariots and complaining about the empire.”

It’s going to be a party.

Having recently moved into a new apartment I feel I have gained some credibility in the realm of home decorating. I can tell you of the many loopholes in Bed Bath & Beyond return policies. I can tell you that Yaffa blocks are stupid. And, most importantly, I can tell you that Feng Shui is real and it works.

The apartment is not new. In fact the building was erected in the 40’s and a friend of mine lived here for the last seven years. It’s a small place, must be organized efficiently, and I went along with him when he said that of the things he left (kitchen table, shelves, etc.) and the places he had his larger items (bed, couch, etc.) were pretty much in the best positions possible. What I realized after living here a few weeks is that just like decorations, photos or the clothes in the closet; the layout of an apartment is a 100% personal issue. Orientation of all the pieces has profound effect on your behavior and thus, your energy and mood.

Feng Shui Bagua Chart

Without getting too “new-agey” on you, everything from keeping certain items visible and others in closets, how the bed is situated to receive the sunlight in the morning will have an effect. And sometimes you don’t realize the effect until something is moved. Step back and take an assessment thinking not if you like something, but how it makes you feel. Maybe that is getting too new agey. I’ll put away the sage and dream catchers for now and leave you with http://instantfengshuitips.wordpress.com/ and http://www.fastfengshui.com.

Read it and see what happens.

Will Sarah Palin’s backing of the oil industry come at the expense of the tourism industry? I say, yes.

As I listen to her asking for prayers for the pipeline one quote comes to mind: “In the end, we will only conserve what we love. We will only love what we understand. We will only understand what we are taught.” ~ Baba Dioum, African environmentalist

What Governor Palin doesn’t understand, or chooses to ignore, is that increased drilling of Alaska will hurt so many sustainable opportunities to bring revenue to the state. It diverts funding, increasing timetables for anything “green” to take effect, and will even impact the states food sources and secondary exports. In her defense, I do understand that the oil industry is about 80% of the Alaskan economy. It’s tough to ignore the demands of 80% of your state’s economy.

But, as someone who works in the travel industry and has been throughout Alaska’s Inside Passage several times, I am very concerned when people like Palin dismiss scientific studies and back the drilling of Alaska’s great wilderness. Global warming not exacerbated by man’s doing? Please. Preservation and environmentally sustainable energy solutions are the future. Their pros far outweigh the cons. And their benefits will trickle down into everything from increased jobs, higher tourism to stable food prices and lower health insurance premiums.

By funding initiatives to back more drilling she is putting all her (and America’s) eggs in one eroding, unsustainable basket. And the snowball effect that will come from it includes everything from a decrease in wildlife (whales, bears) meaning a decrease in reasons to visit the state, higher health risks for its citizens, higher insurance, higher food costs and the list goes on.

If Governor Palin really wanted to protect the future of Alaska she’d invest in water and wind energy, tourism, and make the state stand out and be an example of where the world can go, not where it already went.

Recently, I’ve been receving brochures in the mail highlighting massive discounts and unprecidented savings on anything from sweatshirts to luxury cruises. Even though this is classic direct marketing and price control technique through tough financial times, these companies are still shying away from being as direct as possible. I’ve developed the following approach, easily customizable to your company, that puts you, the company in need, in the driver’s seat. It’s time to employ REALLY Direct Marketing techniques.

“If you are receiving this brochure it means that we have your address. That means we know where you live. Some companies talk the talk but don’t walk the walk. At Vandalay Industries we’ll walk.  We’ll walk right up to your front door, knock it down, and make you buy a set of steak knives, a car or perhaps an afgan – any number of products that are collecting dust in our warehouse. So, when you think about it, it’s best to contact us now, buy something and be done with it. You’ll be saving the cost of a new front door. Now how many companies do you know that offer those kind of savings?”

I wrote this when I first moved to NYC. That was a year ago so I thought it was appropriate to break it out again.

“You’ll find something.”
That’s what my barber tells me. In fact, that’s what everybody says when they learn that I just moved to New York City without a job.
They say, “I’m sure you’ll find something,” if it’s a good friend.
“I know you’ll find something,” if it’s family.

“Something” is, of course, many things to many people. For some, it’s an account position at an interactive advertising agency. It’s New York, so I have to mention finance positions. For others, it’s a writing gig. For other others it’s tossing out the spit buckets at a local boxing ring to get some free gym time. You never know. Towel please.

What I’m wondering isn’t if I’ll ever find what I’m looking for – even Bono hasn’t done that. What I’m wondering is why we are all preprogrammed to produce positive generalities when consoling someone in need. So far, no one has told me that I might have to work construction, tend bar, walk dogs or maybe all three and possibly become stuck in a position of dependence. Maybe I’ll have to sublet my place and move to a cheaper one. It could happen.

Could you imagine a friend saying, “If you don’t find something, I know a fabulous loan shark – you know, just in case…” It would be ridiculous. Even absurd advice can’t end so abruptly. What do we do instead? We say “… But I’m sure you’ll find something.”
Why?
This phrase is not intended for the advisee’s benefit, but for our own. We utter things like “I’m sure you’ll find something” or “It’ll all work out” so that we don’t feel inadequate about our advising skills, even if it means it’s not the best advice we can give. The result is more of a pep talk than true advice – heaps of icing to cover up the fact that the cake probably isn’t as good as they would prefer.

When someone tells you that they think you’ll find something in regards to employment, ask them what they would do if they were out of work for a period of time. Make them see the issue from your perspective – from a tactical perspective, and one in need of a solution, not a sugar-coated . This will bring the conversation to a workable level. If you ask the person what they would do I guarantee you won’t hear, “Oh, I would find something,” in response.

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for in terms of answers to our conditioning to avoid hard-nosed advice, but I have learned that the more people you talk to the more perspective you’ll get. You’ll become stronger in the process. If you notice yourself having trouble even finding people to seek advice from don’t worry. Keep at it. I’m sure you’ll find someone.

I was looking through some old photos last weekend and stumbled upon one I took two years ago at Great Falls National Park, on the Virginia side. Now that was a beautiful fall. But last fall, because of some unusually wet and warm weather, the leaves to pretty much went from green to brown. I thought, what makes leaves change color anyway? Thankfully some people have already figured this out for me.

http://www.sciencemadesimple.com/leaves.html

Great Falls, VA in Autumn by Marc Cappelletti

After reading John Muir’s Travels in Alaska, I can’t help but think that we need someone like him to instill an emotional and compelling link between the wellbeing of nature and that of our own. Tuning into the Republican Convention and watching as the masses chant “Drill, baby! Drill!” is quite possibly the most disheartening thing I’ve seen in my life. I can only assume that none of them have ever been awed by nature or inspired by our environment, especially that of Alaska. John Muir was. And he effectively communicated the power of our natural world to those in power including Teddy Roosevelt, who he took camping in Yosemite in order to secure backing to turn the wilderness area into a protected National Park.

As for Alaska, apparently it’s big enough and close enough to the lower 48 to lend credibility to a small town mayor and Governor, but distant enough to exploit its natural resources without remorse. Where is John Muir when you need him?

 

Face of the Glacier by Marc Cappelletti

“Brought into right relationships with the wilderness, man would see that his appropriation of Earth’s resources beyond his personal needs would only bring imbalance and begat ultimate loss and poverty by all.” ~ John Muir