The gist of this one was that even if you conscientiously exercise, you have the same risk of developing diabetes or getting a heart attack or stroke as anybody else if you spend the rest of the day just sitting around.
The article states that even if you run a marathon every morning, if you just squat on your gluteus for the remainder of your waking hours, as I am doing as I write this, you are doing as you read this and we all have to do if we're going to keep abreast of the latest medical developments on the Internet, that marathon represents a colossal waste of time and shoe fabric as far as getting a late check-out time from the Big Front Desk in the Sky goes. Quit sweating and sit down.
My Significant Other sent me a link to the article. I exercise regularly. She just sits around, but apparently is planning to outlive me by doing so.
The article recommends that we simply stand up. Standing up is good for you. Every time you go to the DMV, you are adding years to your life. Every hour you spend in the security line at the airport is like eating a bowl of steel-cut oatmeal. Speaking of which, am I the only person who wonders what "steel-cut oatmeal" means, or why it's better than oatmeal cut with anything else?
This digression leads me to another, which is a brilliant restaurant idea I have been developing for ages. Dump your stock in Hooters and the Tilted Kilt now is my advice, because my idea will drive those patrons of the push-up bra out of business. I intend to open a chain of restaurants that will prove irresistible to men, America's number one chowing-down demographic. Are you ready?
It's the EAT OVER THE SINK RESTAURANT. The interior of the restaurant is just a bank of sinks on every wall. Guys grab food from a central location. The menu consists entirely of foods that should be eaten over the sink. Meatball sandwiches, hot dogs oozing condiments, rolled tacos hemorrhaging guacamole, nachos that splinter into greasy, shirt-flecking shards when bitten into. Dessert? Crumb cake and foot-high cones of soft-serve ice cream smothered with crushed nuts. My girls will wear push-up bras, too, as they bend over your sink to flick on the garbage disposal or get you another draft beer. Every sink will have a clear view of a television tuned to some sporting event or a Victoria's Secret fashion show.
These are all kitchen sinks, of course. Eating over the bathroom sink is disgusting. So is eating over the trash can, although sometimes it's necessary if someone other than the man of the house is washing the dishes when he gets hungry.
Men who are forbidden to eat over the sink or look longingly at firm young bosoms cupped by filmy bras at home (and these are common prohibitions in many American households) will flock to Eat Over the Sink. I'll become a wealthy restaurateur, maybe even get one of those reality TV shows where I tell other restaurant owners how astonishingly screwed-up they are and spend the rest of my days quality-checking young women's breasts.
And since nobody sits down to eat over the sink, I'll be performing a public health service, too.