Disclaimer: The following may contain material of an offensive nature. Let it be known from the get-go, that though I am not a fatso, I am a plumpso.

Sooooo, on with my story.

Last month Maggie introduced me to Mark Morford of the San Francisco Chronicle. He wrote about Valentine's gifts in such a manner that I will never think of the occasion the same. I immediately subscribed to his column, just as he immediately went on a vacation to Cabo San Lucas, the sister destination from whence I had just returned, Cancun. Though Morford is a far superior writer, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if we both received edicts with official looking embossments and swirly signatures, suggesting we never return to Mexico.

In all fairness, neither of us targeted Mexico - well, maybe I did whine a bit about my partially constructed accommodations. Anyway, in his column Obese American Tourists, Ho! Morford skillfully addressed an escalating tragedy - the overweight American tourist. Of course, the overweight American is tragic no matter where he/she is, but there's something extra shameful about parading our fatness all over the globe. Morford had me laughing so hard, tears ran down my chubby cheeks. (I am not referring to my ass cheeks. For future reference, I call that part of my anatomy my fat ass.) He struck a true and frightening chord. America is in B-I-G trouble. Big, fat trouble.

I've had the good fortune to travel Ireland. My ancestors hail from the Emerald Isle. I'm 4th generation. Now, we all know the potato famine is long over, but the Irish are still a lean group, for the most part, despite the abundant consumption of ale in the local pubs. They're still a sturdy bunch, with sun-roughened skin and calloused hands, because Ireland continues to be mostly agricultural.

And I quote:

"The total land area of Ireland is 6.9 million hectares, of which, almost 5 million hectares is used for agricultural and forestry purposes. 80% of the agricultural area is devoted to grass (silage, hay and pasture), 11% to rough grazing and 9% to crop production. Beef and milk production currently account for 58% of total agricultural output. The total number of farms in Ireland was 141,500 in 2000 down from 223,400 in 1980. Almost all of these are family owned and operated. The average farm size was 31.4 hectares."

Of course, I didn't know what the heck a hectare was, but the statistics still worked for me.

I once read a fascinating op-ed in the NY Times about the dramatic economic changes taking place in Ireland. It's becoming one of the world's wealthiest nations, a hub of technology birthed in Dublin. The thrust of the article focused on the Irish soul - the loss of identity they are subtly experiencing. The Irish have forever been known for their struggles, not only by the world at large, but as a self-perception. They identify themselves and have chiseled a persona based on poverty and the mettle to overcome misfortune. These hardships are slipping away from them as fast as the greasy French fries I used to eat, and they're facing a new brand of struggle. One is tempted to insert a big "wah-wah" here, but I found the concept interesting. One is also tempted to speculate whether the Irish are as doomed as we Americans - with the onrush of technological advancements, will they become the pasty-white fatsos we've become?

The media is sated with articles and editorials about fatso America and the resultant medical complications. Just yesterday, the NY Times had another editorial about fast food advertising and the effects on our toddlers, and diabetes is being escorted into our society like a debutante with bloated indulgences.

Okay, my brain is sore, but this isn't the last you've heard from me regarding the topic of our tubbiness.

Shit-o-dear. I swear to you. I start my diet today.

I'm hungry -off to eat breakfast. Hmmm, maybe a birdseed & egg white omelet. Not.