THE RETURN OF THE BLOG

WE’RE BACK!

Dear friends: It’s been an eventful year, that’s for sure. But Marc’s about the start a new adventure and he thinks it might be worth writing about, even if it’s just for his own sanity. So watch this space for new hilarious misadventures and medical updates. Following the advice of just about all of his doctors, he’s going to try to lose weight. A lot of weight. Except this time he says he’s serious and he has convinced a doctor to operate on him. Here’s his first entry:

I’m going to lose 150 lbs. Really. No gambling please.

Just to get off to a fast start I began with a good lunch yesterday. It’s shown in the picture above. That’s an overstuffed pastrami sandwich from Katz’s Deli on the Lower East Side displayed on my desk before I made a meal of it. A bag of crisp, greasy french fries sits on the right and a big pile of half-sour and sour pickles with a couple of pickled tomatoes thrown in is above left. The sandwich is the classic New York pastrami on rye with mustard and cole slaw on the sandwich with a side of slaw because they NEVER put enough on the bread.

Katz’s (they still have signs that ask you to “Send A Salami To Your Boy In The Army”) has become more of a tourist attraction then a real deli in the past 20 years. Every 15 minutes another tour bus full of Germans or Midwesterners pull up and herd their clueless, grossed out passengers inside, where they order corned beef on white with mayo. Except now, the dazed, non-confrontational waitresses don’t even raise an eyebrow -- they just deliver the sandwich without comment. Every so often, a gaggle of overdressed girls from New Jersey or Long Island arrive and are disappointed that they can’t get waitress service at the table where Rob Reiner’s mother sat in “When Harry Met Sally.” A sign hangs over the table to save everyone’s time. (“I’ll have what she’s having.”)

I was immediately recognized as a knowledgeable food junkie because I ordered “soft pastrami” to insure I got enough fat. Only those who aren’t properly initiated order “extra lean.” A sign above the counterman advises that will cost ya an extra buck. But Myron the sandwich guy quickly sized me up as a real member of the club – especially when I reached up and slid a dollar bill across the glass counter. (The countermen at Katz’s stand above us mortals like pharmacists in an old drug store.) I swear there was a twinkle in his eye as he hand cut the sloppy piece of cow flesh and passed a flaky, moist translucent slice back to me for my approval. He did it with all the pride and professional flair as a tuxedoed waiter pouring a taste of fine wine at Jean George. The meat exploded with the proper firework display of tastes as it quickly melted on my tongue and I gave my approval to him with just a glance.

Back in my office, I stuffed myself until I thought I might become bulimic and solve my problem the hard way. But I didn’t and I will go ahead with the surgery. The sandwich was my last meal before the operation because for the next two weeks I’m on a strict liquid diet. It seems they need to shrink my liver to get it out of the way before they fuck around with my stomach, which for 60 years is used to getting crap like the sandwich from Katz’s and I’m sure it will try and punish me for denying it what it wants. It’s used to getting what it wants.

But in two weeks it’s not going to want it anymore.

I won’t bore you here with the gory details of the operation. It you’re sick enough to want to know more just check out “Adjustable Gastric Lap-Band Surgery” on the doctor’s web site. Just click here. Meanwhile, it’s four 8 ounce bottles a day of Ensure for me. Today was my first full day. Oh my God!

HELP!

Watch this space for more news.