Anyone who knows me knows that ever since my knee surgery last year, I've been kind of a porky bastard (okay, before that too, but not so much as after). Gaining weight as easily as I do, it was no trouble at all for me to balloon up to nearly 300 pounds immediately after the surgery, and I'll be damned if the weight didn't fight me every step of the way when I started becoming more active again.

As a way of giving myself incentive to get back to an only semi-corpulent state, I made a resolution last May that I wouldn't touch another drop of alcohol until I got under 250 again. In the early going it wasn't easy, especially when my self-imposed sanction necessitated a booze-free birthday party in June, but I managed to stick to my guns and (thanks lots of inspiration from my buddy Mark Gibbon, and the shame I felt upon seeing footage of myself in a form-fitting Electronic Arts motion capture suit) I finally chiseled away a good-sized portion of my soft, flabby outer coating.

I'm pleased to announce that as of yesterday, I weigh 250 on the nose for the first time in over a year, and am now free to booze it up. The only problem is, now that my liver has become relatively pristine, I've lost my damn taste for alcohol! In terms of my physical and financial health this is far from a bad thing, but at the same time it also means that I'm going to continue getting berated at social functions by certain fellow stuntmen who are convinced that my current state of sobriety is indicative of a newfound love of gay sex.

I'm sure that I'll end up getting blotto at some party or other in the future, but for now I'm just going to have to accept the fact that I've got one less vice than I used to have. Of course, there are plenty of others to choose from, so I might just try something new to fill the void. I hear that the kids these days are all excited about that crack cocaine...