Ozzy Osbourne - Trust Me, I’m Dr. Ozzy

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I want to reduce the calories I eat, but how on earth do you go about counting them? I know that everything you buy in the supermarket has those little stickers on them now, but does anyone seriously measure out every single portion—and what about food you eat in restaurants, or that other people cook for you? How can you keep track of if all without basically dedicating your entire life to it?

It’s a total waste of time, counting calories. For example, I looked at a packet of cereal the other, and it said on the side, “one bowl, 230 calories.” But how big’s the bowl? For all I know, it could be the size of an ashtray or a swimming pool. A better strategy is just to cut your portions down. Buy smaller plates, for a start. Seriously. Here in America, they give you enough food in one sandwich to feed the North Korean Army for a month. It’s only when you put it on a normal-sized plate that you realise what a pig you’re being. Exercise also makes a really big difference, even if it’s just a 20-minute walk every day. Do both of those things, and you’ll never have to count calories again.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

What’s the best way to treat a burned mouth? I love food, so there’s nothing worse than getting over-enthusiastic about a piping hot meal, only to destroy my taste buds for a week.

I’ve done that with a hot french fry before, and it’s horrible. It’s even worse when you get it stuck halfway down your wind pipe, then everything else you eat for the next month tastes like sulphuric fucking acid. You’ve gotta slow down , man. In England, we eat food like it could jump up and do the 100-yard sprint at any second. Alternatively, you could eat all your meals at a restaurant with lazy waiters, so the food’s always lukewarm.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

Why are people so worried about the mercury in tuna fish? I read the other day that Abraham Lincoln used to take mercury-laced pills to treat his constipation, and he was in good enough health to lead America (until he was shot, of course).

The only time I’d get worried about the mercury in tuna fish is if I ate a whole one. Otherwise, I can’t see how a bit of sushi every now and then is a problem. Having said that, a friend of my daughter’s recently got mercury poisoning, and it was heavy duty, man: she had memory loss, slurred speech, crazy mood swings, loss of co-ordination… basically, she ended up feeling how I did during most of the 1980s. As for good old Abe Lincoln, it’s never a very good idea to say, “Oh, so-and-so survived putting leeches on his eyeballs, so therefore it must be okay.” I mean, they used to add pure heroin to cough mixture. If they still did that today, I’d be off sick with a cold 365 days a year.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

People keep telling me how great yoga is—especially when it comes to stress—but I can’t stand the thought of all that chanting and hippy-dippy bullshit. Have you ever tried it?

You’ve got totally the wrong idea. Doing yoga ain’t like being a Buddhist monk. Or at least it doesn’t have to be. It’s basically stretching exercises—and you’d be amazed at the results you can get. I used to have this makeup artist, and she went on leave to have a baby, then I saw her a year later after doing a lot of yoga, and she looked amazing, all slim and tight and healthy. You’d never have believed she’d pushed one out just a few months before. I’ve actually just decided to do a course of Pilates for that very same reason. I’m not out of shape, but I want to avoid getting a big old gut on me. My only fear with these stretching-based things is that I won’t have the patience. Generally speaking, if I haven’t worked up a sweat in the first three seconds, I’m off. So we’ll see. In the meantime, why don’t you take a leaf out of my book, and at least try it.

♦ Next time you’re in the gym, watch out for blokes with exploding balls—exercise balls, that is. One guy in Florida sued after the one he was leaning on (while holding two dumbbells) went pop, sending him crashing to the floor. He needed five surgeries, allegedly.

♦ No-one knew you could get high from endorphins until a guy called Jim Fixx came along in the 1970s. He was basically a fat bloke who smoked two packs a day until he started jogging—then he lost his flab, quit tobacco, and turned himself into the world’s first ever fitness guru. Trouble was, he dropped dead at 52. While on a run.

♦ Scientists reckon the chance of ending up like Fixx—ie, croaking it while exercising—is roughly one in 15,000 to 18,000 every year. [2]People who work out the most have a higher risk than those who do it least. Being fat ain’t much of an alternative, though: obesity is a far more common preventable cause of death.

♦ During the 1956 FA Cup Final, the goalie for Man City, Bert Trautmann, managed to break his neck after diving for the ball one too many times. There were still 17 minutes to go, though, so the crazy fucker kept on playing—even making a few more heroic saves that let Man City take home the cup. In fact, the guy didn’t even bother getting an X-ray until three days later, when he finally realised his head was about to fall off. He made a full recovery, and the last I heard, he’s still alive and well.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I keep hearing that humans need to drink eight glasses of water a day. This is surely bullshit, yes?

I tried drinking eight classes of water a day for a while, and my bladder felt like a red-hot fucking cannon ball. I need to pee a lot as it is—but if I’m knocking back eight glasses of water, I might as well just live in the can, the amount of time I’ll end up spending in there. My advice is this: if you eat a lot of fruit and vegetables, you’ll get some water from your food. On the top of that, drink as much as you need to stop being thirsty—which means if you lose water from exercise, you’ll be thirstier, and need to drink a bit more. That’s what animals do to survive when they’re in the wild. We ain’t any different.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’ve become addicted to counting calories: I have a sensor in my shoes that sends a “calorie burn readout” to my iPhone; I input everything I eat into a calorie counting website; and I try to estimate how many calories I burn up doing everything else (including typing this). I’m losing weight, but going insane. Advice?

I remember seeing an interview with Bob Dylan after he wrote his memoirs, and he said, “While you’re writing, you ain’t living.” The same goes for counting calories—which I’ve tried to do on many occasions. The bottom line is, every hour you spend jotting down every last cornflake or baked bean you ate during the day is an hour you could have spent with your family or friends. Either that, or you could be using the time to learn something, like a new language. I mean, okay, yeah, you’d still be fat. But at least you’d be fat and able to order your double-cheeseburgers in Slovakian.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I haven’t been able to “go” for ten days, and I’m starting to get really worried. Nothing seems able to unclog me.

I’d recommend a strong cup of coffee, but it sounds more like you need a stick of dynamite. Prunes can also be effective, if you can stand the taste. Personally, if I’m suffering from a spot of constipation, I’ll ask the missus for some of her “special pills.” All women seem to have a stash of these things somewhere: they come in a pink box with flowers on the outside. Just be careful: I once took a handful of ’em, thinking they’d never work—nothing else did—but boy, was I wrong. Two minutes later, I was unloading about ten Christmas dinners out of my rear end. It went on for days , to the point I couldn’t even work out where all the stuff was coming from. It was like the laws of physics didn’t apply. So I suggest trying to get hold of the same stuff. Just go easy with it.