Cholesterol

Friday July 25, 2025

A real picture of my heart.

Bestow congratulations upon me, for I am one of the 7.5% of 20-39-year-old American adults who have high cholesterol.

I’ve known this for almost a year, but it nonetheless brings me shame and sorrow. When my doctor told me last October that it wasn’t uncommon for college-aged kids to have crazy high cholesterol due to the beer and burrito diet, I was optimistic that my numbers were high due to the close proximity of the test to heavy birthday drinking. For about three months, I stopped eating sandwiches for lunch every day as I tried to cut out deli meat and reduce bread. (Who am I kidding, I’m never going to eliminate bread.) I went from drinking 2-3 days/week to 1-2 days/week. I got pretty dedicated to my fitness, playing soccer or going to the gym 6 days/week.

I don’t really know how long it takes to build a good habit out of a bad one, but it’s not three months. At some point, I subconsciously decided I was doing better and went right back to the same lifestyle as before. I’ve continued to be pretty physically active, but I stopped policing my diet entirely and went back to drinking pretty heavily four or five days each month once the Spring rolled around.

I always knew I’d have to get a follow-up test, but I don’t know, I still feel like I’m 21 sometimes. So, I got a test a couple of weeks ago, and sure enough, my numbers were even worse. I’ve got the sludge blood. So, now I’m on Lipitor — a drug advertised in AARP Magazine.

I’m encountering a new emotion: Shame of my health. I have no genetic predisposition to high cholesterol; I fully did this to myself with diet and sloth. Part of me wonders how I could have fattier blood than 92.5% of adults ages 20-39, but a larger part says that comparison is the path of fools, and I need to stop drinking and eating red meat. Then another part asks what cruel irony this is that I have but one life, and enjoying its pleasures will cut it short. If you were ever looking for proof that there is no God, it’s the existence of cholesterol.

We’re having a baby shower tomorrow, and I’m gonna be sticking my middle finger right up at whatever celestial force might be up there. Beer, barbecue, and 12 hours of direct sunlight exposure. I’m on medication, I can do what I want now.

One Book: Cribsheet by Emily Oster

Emily Oster is the Dr. Benjamin Spock of our generation. She’s an economist by trade, but became obsessed with the data around pregnancy and child rearing after becoming pregnant with her first daughter. Cribsheet and Expecting Better are must-reads for new parents. She has terrified us a little bit, but also put us significantly at ease, provided important context for the parenting challenges we haven’t faced yet, and wisdom for the pregnancy hurdles Lindsay continues to clear.

The biggest takeaways? “Common knowledge” is sometimes wrong (or simply misguided), conventional wisdom evolves over time, and it’s more important than ever to understand how to rate the quality of information you receive because there’s no shortage of absolute friggin’ demons trying to sell you something online.

One Hollywood: Superman

We’re in one of those TV lulls where if we watch anything, it’s just The Office for background noise. Andrew Pacheco and I might try to go see Happy Gilmore 2, but curious if anyone saw Superman? Heard it pissed the MAGA world all the way off, but anyone see it? Give us a comment review.

Before they bathed in barbecue sauce.

One Food: Ribs

I made ribs a couple of weeks ago. They came out pretty good. Unfortunately, the next day my body betrayed me, so I will not be making ribs again for quite some time.

One Song: Waxahatchee - Lilacs

The only thing I knew about this week on Monday was that I wanted to include this song. It came on my Spotify shuffle when Lindsay and I were sitting on the porch enjoying each other’s company on one of the only cool nights last week. I’ve liked Waxahatchee for a long time but somehow never heard this song. Pretty perfect summer evening on the porch song.

One Place: Tonino

This has to be one of the most popular restaurants in Boston right now. They accept reservations 30 days ahead of time, opening one more day at noon every day. Lindsay and I had to try three times before finally getting one because it got fully booked within two minutes twice. So, naturally, we were pretty excited to go on Monday despite my diagnosis casting an unexpected pallor on the evening. It was… good. Sort of a victim of expectations. When it’s that hard to get a reservation and you have to wait a month, you kind of expect it to be extraordinary.

The eggplant caponata set an extremely high bar. Phenomenal. Snap pea Caesar was very good. Pastas (gnocchi pomodoro for me, cavatelli with pecorino, lemon, and sausage for Lindsay) were good, but we both agreed that The Little Store in Marblehead was better. I will say that I liked my pasta more with each bite, which doesn’t always happen. I like a dish that grows on me because it feels unexpected. You think you’re going to love something right away and it can’t possibly get better after that, but when you’re a little underwhelmed at first and grow to love it as you eat, that’s a nice bit of culinary work. My cholesterol can shut the hell up.