We are starting our New Year’s resolutions early around here! Mr. H recently was weighed at the doctor’s office, and when they started calling local vet offices for livestock scales, he got the point. Now I can stop leaving Post-Its and fortune cookies around, which is just as well because he would eat the fortune cookies whole and miss the message completely. Picture the treat tossing action at Sea World.

Oh, I am pulling your very shapely leg. He merely needs to practice a tiny bit of slimming for heart health, and since he is a man, this means he will switch to Cheerios for breakfast and stop drinking Snapple and magically drop 30 pounds in one week. I’ll wake up one day and wonder when I married Christian Bale in The Machinist. Then I’ll probably poke him in all his visible ribs. Wouldn’t you?

The New York Times, always on the cusp of trends like people having blogs or knitting or finding apartment hunting trying, has mentioned a diet long touted by Vomitola: the Imagine Diet. Lambchop cited this diet in 2004: Never Say Die-t! Lambchop 1, Science 0.

Lambchop and I have tried many diets over the years, including the Spit It Out diet and the Despair diet, and while all of those work, there can be downsides. What happens when you become just too attractive?

Once we tried subsisting on Brain Wash soda, a heady confection of sugar, stimulants, and jalapeño oil. It also came in the flavor red (not pictured). It burned as if you were being cleansed by God.

We were but neophyte sommeliers, so we used to try gauche little pairings for our beverages all the time. Gummy worms really brought out the undertone of civet cat musk, and Sour Patch Kids brought out seizures. Swedish fish dialed up the shoe leather and berry notes. Pop Rocks caused an actual blackout. Combine this with a regimen of occasionally nipping at the steam trays and frozen yogurt machine in the Warren Towers cafeteria and marching from Chinatown to Allston while hallucinating vigorously, and we were fit as fiddles!

Oh, to be young again!