I shared an Indian dinner last night with an old friend. He looked good due to (a) having just gotten a $150 haircut and (b) having dropped a few pounds. He told me he’s been on a very limited fat diet, and I decided in a flash that I need to double down on the HE cockatoo and follow his spartan regimen.

Which means (a) no meats, (b) no dairy whatsoever (c) no oils (only balsamic vinaigrette on salads), (d) back to carrots, celery and apples during work hours (e) steamed vegetables, (f) steamed potatoes with lemon juice, (g) no Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches, (h) only whole-grain breads and no sandwiches whatsoever, (i) salmon, (j) no pizza, (k) no gelato or yogurt desserts, (l) no buttered popcorn and (m) next to no pasta.

Why the concern? Cholestoral and high-blood pressure, to name two concerns. Plus I’m tallish (6′ 1/2″) and broad shouldered and have always been on the slender side, but the truth is that I’ve been looking (and more importantly feeling) a bit gutty and even paunchy over the last couple of years, especially while sitting down. The upside is that I’m 98% out of the woods with the bruised-rib-cage thing. It’s wonderful to be free of that awful, debilitating pain.

The above rules and regulations are close to what I’ve been eating anyway, so it’s not like I’m about to experience severe sticker shock. Plus I have a famous Woody Allen line to comfort me: “You can live to be a hundred if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be a hundred.”