A Weight-Loss State of Mind

I recently lost 50 pounds in five months.  To achieve optimal health, I need to do it again immediately.  So, this is an interim report in the form of a blog post, focusing on Lessons Learned.  Item #2 includes two rules, and the rest of the items are guidelines, or musings, or hypoglycemic blather.

1. Eating less than you want to in an attempt to lose weight can really mess with your head.

The instant I form the thought, "Starting immediately, I'm going to eat less than I want to in an attempt to lose weight," a less-reasonable part of me responds, "No!  Please...no!  We'll starve!  And if we manage not to starve, we'll always be hungry!  We'll never be full!  We can't possibly be that attentive, day in and day out!  If we're not allowed to spontaneously and un-self-consciously eat French fries from a loved one's plate, there's no reason to live!"

Occasionally--infrequently--I recognize this less-reasonable part of me as wrong.  I created her, of course, and I did so by depriving myself of food in my late teens and twenties, by telling myself that half of a small baked potato sans toppings constitutes a meal.  The more-reasonable part of me can quiet her (gently, affectionately) by pointing out that my plan is to eat slightly less, but still plenty, and all the good things.

It's easy, though (if one has known only over-eating and under-eating) to suffer Leonard Cohen's "panic of loss" when faced with an alien and perhaps-tedious middle ground, and to anticipate facing it forever.  Equanimity, patience, and assertiveness are key, as are self-awareness, self-care, and expectation management.  And it's a good idea to limit blaming, complaining, and excuse-making (especially if you spend any time at all hanging out with me).

2. A plan-of-eating needs to be less like a balance beam and more like an airport runway.

In the beginning, eating less than I want to can be difficult, and after a month or two I begin to look for a way out.  The easiest way out is to fall off the wagon, eat everything in sight, and then climb back on the wagon a year (or five) later.  Desiring a long-term solution to my recurring obesity, I designed a plan-of-eating with only two rules:

Daily, count the calories of everything I eat, and log that number.

Weekly, log my weight.

The first rule prevents mindless eating.  At restaurants, I make one careful estimation of the caloric content of a meal, and then I stop thinking about it.  At home, I'm more careful; I weigh and measure the ingredients of most meals.  During the last five months, I've eaten as few as 950 calories and as many as 3600 calories (my average is about 1650, and I always round to the nearest 50 calories).  Physical, emotional, and social states affect my eating choices, and I'm comfortable with that.  Sustainability is everything.

The second rule ensures that I'm actually on a weight-loss path.  After the first two weeks, I've averaged a 2-pound loss a week, losing a minimum of 0.6 pounds and a maximum of 3.8 pounds.  This rule dictates that I must hop on the scale at least once a week, but I can do it more frequently if I like.

I cut myself a little slack with this rule, allowing myself to record any weekly weight as my official weekly weight.  My weight-logging day is Monday, but, if my lowest weight happens to be on another day, I  can log that weight.  I find that this results in fewer bleak Sundays (Sundays are bleak enough without limiting dinner to a bowl of watermelon, 'cause it's a diuretic).

3. A plan-of-eating needs to include plenty of protein, fat, and fiber.

There was a time when about 90 percent of my calories came from carbohydrates, and I was willing to feel ravenous day after day because I knew the feeling would culminate in skinniness.  No more.  For the last five months, I've been aiming for 20 to 30 percent of calories from fat, with the rest of the calories evenly divided between protein and carbohydrates (with lots of fiber and very little sugar).  I'm no longer ravenous.

4. A plan-of-eating needs to include all the foods you enjoy.  In fact, those are the only foods that a plan-of-eating should include.

I know this is obnoxiously first-world, but if your meal is disappointing, stop eating as quickly as possible.  Put your fork down, take a deep breath, and imagine what you want to be eating.  Then, if possible, eat that.  It's a mistake to gaze at a menu, or gaze into a pantry or refrigerator, and ask, "What choice will make me thin?"  Keeping in mind that sustainability is everything, a better question is, "What's yummy?"  Or, "What would I choose if this were my last meal?"  Or, "What would I choose for someone else, perhaps someone I was attracted to sexually?" 

5. A temptation-free environment is a fantasy.

I know it's widely recommended that we purge our environments of foods on which we might binge.  And it's true that I don't want to see a 2-pound box of See's chocolates or a family-size bag of BBQ chips every time I open the pantry.  But if one is adequately motivated to overeat, one will, whatever the environment.  I once made a decent batch of bar cookies using nothing but oatmeal, peanut butter, and concentrated apple juice.  And if you melt enough part-skim mozzarella over any whole grain, and add a few drops of Sriracha, you've got a tasty snack.  Additionally, there are five fast-food restaurants within a half-mile of my house, and they all take credit cards.  Or, if I'm already in PJs, I can have pizza and/or Chinese food delivered to the front door, and--because of efficiency and proximity--the orange chicken and crab rangoon will arrive within five minutes.

It's a friendly neighborhood, so just as I purge my home of temptation, a neighbor might drop by with fudge, a Girl Scout might drop by with cookies, or my sister might drop by with lasagna.  All are welcome.  Because temptation is everywhere, it's much more realistic to learn to resist temptation (or to succumb to a degree with which you can live) than it is to cocoon yourself in a temptation-free zone.  Who wants to live there?  When my nephew suggests a late-night trip to the Chevron ExtraMart for snacks, I don't want to respond with, "But sweetheart...you know Aunt Polly's on a diet!"

6. Exercise is a great idea, and I admire anyone who occasionally gets off his or her ass.

For the last five months, I burned calories by running errands, by traipsing around a split-level home, by standing up while waiting for a booth at my favorite Mexican restaurant.  I did a modicum of housework, a soupçon of yard work.  At least fortnightly, I took the dog for a 20-minute walk.  Now that I'm in Phase II (the next fifty pounds), I take the dog for a 30-minute walk every morning.  Eventually, I'll do a bicep curl with a soup can, or attempt a half-dozen jumping jacks, or power-walk a 5K.  Just not yet.

7. Weight loss doesn't need to be physically painful if you're making the right choices, but be prepared for emotional pain.

I numb myself to painful emotions by eating and--especially--by bingeing.  Grief, guilt, fear, anger, envy, and uncertainty all melt away during the process of becoming painfully overfull.  While adhering to a plan-of-eating that results in weight loss, I'm frequently visited by these unwelcome feelings, and I have no tools, no strategies, no defense mechanisms to make them go away.  I am bereft.  These feelings wash over me like ocean waves, and I let them.  I sit quietly, and I let them.

That said, there's no harm in trying to maintain a serene (if not cheerful) mood.  When crap happens, I pause and ask myself, "Is this important crap?"  It usually is not, and, while I don't banish the feelings of agitation or upset, I do nothing to encourage the feelings to linger.  

There's also no harm in trying to have a good time.  Right now, I'm working on a list of Activities That I Always (or Almost Always) Anticipate With Pleasure.  I'm up to seven.  And I try to schedule one for today, one for this week, one for this month, and one for the next six months.

8. Beware the crutch, especially if you don't have absolute control of the crutch.

A crutch is a useful--and temporary--tool for navigating a difficult situation.  Maybe, when I'm eating less than I want to eat, I shop a bit more, or nap a bit more, or watch "Ally McBeal" on Netflix a bit more.  I pay close attention to what affects my mood, and I protect my mood, as much as possible.  If that borders on narcissism (or laziness) (or both), so be it.

But it's essential to avoid crutches that can be unceremoniously kicked out from under you.  Years ago, I relied on a malfunctioning gallbladder to keep me from overeating.  As a crutch, it worked well for months, but eventually I had surgery, and two days later I was making up for lost time at an all-you-can-eat buffet.  I've also used the attention of men (in person and in cyberspace) to distract me from eating.  That particular strategy makes relying on a diseased body part seem like a brilliant idea.

9. Don't be influenced by the weight-loss efforts of those around you.

A weight-loss buddy, or even a group effort, can be--but probably isn't--helpful.  Perhaps you've been inspired by others, so smile gamely when someone is inspired by you, and wants to hop on the weight-loss bandwagon.  Keep in mind, though, that it's not really one big bandwagon, but many individual bandwagons.

As stated earlier, the best weight-loss state of mind is one of equanimity and patience.  Competitive feelings of envy and/or superiority are not useful in this endeavor.  I sincerely wish everyone the best, because if people are successful in achieving and maintaining healthy weights, it's good for the individuals, the nation, and the species.  However, my path is the only path that I can see clearly, and it behooves me to train my focus there.

10. If you feel pressure from anyone to eat more or to eat less, ignore it.

I once said to a friend, "Don't you hate it when people exert subtle--or not so subtle--pressure on you to eat more or to eat less than you want to eat?"

"No," he said.  "I ignore it."

Freak show.  Could that possibly work?  Could I change my responses to people, rather than trying to change...people?  When my stepmother jokes that my helping of veggie fajitas could feed a small village...when my sad friend suggests that the only way out of her bad mood is to share a family-sized sundae...could I remain unaffected by the comment, and eat exactly what I want to eat?  Of course I can!  I am always in charge of what I eat.

11. The rules and guidelines don't change simply because there's a well-loved child in the room.

Eating with children has always been a challenge for me.  I'm already feeling a little stress (because I'm temporarily responsible for another human life), and suddenly we're at Wendy's, and someone wants nuggets, fries, and a Frosty.  Or at least a couple of nibbles of nuggets, fries, and a Frosty.  I don't want to throw the leftovers away, and I don't want to take them home, and all that grease and salt and sugar is calling my name, and I cave.  Later, there are additional snacks during a movie or a tea party, and I find myself eating gumdrops and animal crackers, and sipping some turquoise version of juice.

Recently, I quit that behavior cold turkey.  I was actually beginning to resent the children, which was ridiculous.  Now I ask myself, "Would I eat this if I weren't with this child?" and I only proceed if the answer is yes.

12. As much as possible, detach from outcomes.

Granted, it's almost impossible to do.  When you weigh yourself, you're going to care about the number.  I like to imagine measuring other things: chopped walnuts for cookies, fabric for a skirt, a room for new carpet.  I can do those things without an emotional investment.  Weight-taking is merely an element of charting; it's not an indictment of my body or my character.  It's useful information, and that's all.

I follow my two rules, and I manage expectations.  Sometimes, after a couple of days of Big Macs and TV, I lose 3 pounds.  Sometimes, after a couple of days of veggie chili over brown rice, with dog walks at both sunrise and sunset, I gain 3 pounds.  I don't know why.  And it's not in my best interest to get all spun up about it.

In all of my endeavors, it doesn't make sense for my mood to be dependent on something I cannot control.  I can control how well I stick to my rules and guidelines, and it makes sense for my mood to be somewhat dependent on that.  I'm a firm believer in the science of weight loss (and I roll my eyes at the suggestion that losing weight after menopause is tantamount to raising quadruplets or winning an Oscar), but there will be fluctuations in weight that I am unable to predict or control.  The only option is to detach.  Obsession and extreme behaviors will lead to agitation, when what you need is serenity.

13. The bad news: Weight loss doesn't make everything okay.

It will almost certainly improve your health, but--even as you wiggle into those size-eight jeans--loved ones are still dead, dreams are still dashed, cruelty and tragedy and inequity and despair still reign.  You're only thin.  That's all.  Don't expect more.

14. The good news: Jettisoning the impediment of obesity is worth the angst, and worth any sacrifice of food or drink.

Obesity is unhealthy, uncomfortable, embarrassing, and expensive.  It's limiting.  It can make bold people shy, and active people sedentary.  It can create people who are experts at avoidance, rationalization, and deception.  But once you figure out a way to walk away from it, it quickly loses its grip, and the freedom is exquisite.

Go List Yourself

This afternoon, my older sister and I were sorting through a stack of books that belonged to our dad, who passed away two weeks ago. We stumbled upon a book called "List Your Self: Listmaking as the Way to Self-Discovery." It'd be great if I could lovingly share the contents of the book with you—his memories, his fears, his favorite things—but the book is as bare as it was the day my sister or I sent it to him in 1997. Don't fret, though: That same year, I bought a copy for myself, and I have a record of life as I knew it in the late nineties.

Chapter 1: Yourself

Under "List the activities you'd do if you weren't so afraid," I unwisely include "pick up a hitchhiker" and "be a hitchhiker." I didn't do those things, but I did "learn to swim," and I occasionally "say what I'm feeling."

Under "List the compliments you receive on a regular basis," I enthusiastically fill the page, including "you don't act married."

Under "List what consistently worries you each day," I fill the page once again, including "that I have (or will soon have) cancer, Alzheimer's, or an STD."

Under "List the animals that really scare you," I include worms and bears.

Under "List all the qualities in yourself you like the least," I include but 2: "my tendency toward procrastination" and "my pesky shyness."

Under "List all the things you'd like to say to your mother," I include 13 items ranging from "I miss you" and "thanks for staying up late sewing for me" to "I'm sorry I was occasionally disdainful" and "let's go shopping for slutty clothes."

Under "List all the people who love you for who you really are," I limit it to 6 people: husband, son, an ex-coworker, two neighbor children in Dallas, and cousin Suzy.

Chapter 2: Daily Life

Under "List the things you do between turning off the alarm and walking out your front door," I include "weigh myself," "check email," and "open the blinds and verify there isn't a drowned child in the pool."

Under "List all the things you've lent that have come back broken," I write "Nothing, that I recall."

Chapter 3: Business

Under "List what you'd like to shout out loud to your boss or coworkers," I write 1 thing: "Shut the fuck up!"

Under "List the names of all your past bosses," I list 14, including "Dad" and "some guy at Camp Williams."

Chapter 4: Change

Under "List all those events you went into with doubt that turned out surprisingly well," there's a blank page.

Under "List the attitudes and habits you've had to give up to get through life," I include "being nice is all-important," "men are trustworthy," and "people want to see other people happy and successful."

Under "List the ways you sabotage yourself from getting what you want," I include "I'm unwilling to compete, confront, work hard, or be inconvenienced."

Under "List the menu for your Last Supper," I include 5 items: fresh-squeezed OJ, warm cashews, corn-on-the-cob, a thick slice of white bread with Sally's strawberry jam, and a mint truffle.

Under "List the major changes you feel you need to make in your life right now," I include "stop backing away socially," "stay the budgetary course," and "stop eating meat."

Under "List the rivers you've crossed," I include "I stopped fearing dogs" and "I stopped chatting online."

Under "List all the elements of a perfect vacation," I start with the most important: "low expectations."

Chapter 5: Culture

Under "List the contests and awards you've won," I include 6 items, the most memorable being "an apple-bobbing contest at 6th-grade sleep-away camp."

Under "List all the things that could happen to you when you park in an underground structure," I include 4: I could wind up murdered, trapped in a collapse, lost, or "seduced."

Chapter 6: Men and Women

Under "List all the typical reasons you end a relationship," I write 1 thing: boredom.

Under "List what's wrong with women," I include "they're unreasonable," "they're too attached to possessions," and "they use words like boobs." Under "List what's wrong with men," I include half-again as many items, including "they leave," "they don't say good-bye," "they're awful in groups," "they believe in UFOs," and "they wear hats too often." I have no idea to which UFO-believing, hat-wearing man I'm referring.

Under "List the reasons for getting married," I include "being pregnant," "wanting to be a stay-at-home mom," and "needing health benefits."

Under "List the reasons you haven't met the man or woman of your dreams," I write "I have."

Chapter 7: Greater Truths

Under "List all the things you don't want to think about," I include "getting old: being weird, sexless, demanding, pathetic" and "watching Dad get old."

Under "List what heals your aching heart," I include 4 items: a diet Dr. Pepper on ice, talking with my husband, a long drive, and a long walk. In fact, on the last page of the book, I jot down a Kierkegaard quote: Solvitur ambulando. "It is solved by walking."

Chapter 8: Health

Under "List all the self-improvement techniques you've experimented with," I include 3 items: "Mormonism," "that book on est," and "that Franklin Quest class on time management."

Chapter 9: Growing Up

Under "List the foods, candy, and other treats that you loved to snack on," I include goober peas, Big Hunks, tacos, and coconut-rolled-oats cookies.

Under "List the warnings and old wives' tales you were taught," I include "men are more interesting than women," "all women are potential threats," "sexiness is good," "perfume is essential," and "don't wear ankle straps (always unflattering)." Gee, I wonder who was advising me.

Under "List all the details you can remember about your childhood bedroom," I include many, but my favorite is "my neatness, and Sally's lack of neatness."

Under "List who you wanted to be like when you grew up," I include my mom and Norma.

Under "List the experiences you had as a child that you knew were truly significant," I include (among others) "epiphanies related to Don Black" and "ditto Marvin Payne."

Chapter 10: Suddenly...

Under "Suddenly your house is on fire. List the stuff you'd grab to save," I fill the page. I start—of course—with son, husband, and animals. I add photos, favorite furniture, and layabouts. By the halfway point, I include mini-skirts, "vests and nighties," field jacket, Franny and Zooey, award-winning pinewood-derby car, and teeth-bleaching trays.

Under "Suddenly you are as thin as you want. List what would happen now." Again, the page is crowded with my small, neat printing. Very few items have to do with health or happiness (or sanity or humility or devotion or adventure). I'd probably still want to "swim laps," but that's about it.

Stocking Up on Leonard Cohen

Lately, you can't throw an Old Testament or a pair of silk panties without hitting a Leonard Cohen song. Earlier this week, it was "Bird on the Wire" at the end of "Sons of Anarchy." Last week, it was five different songs on a two-part "Criminal Minds." In the endlessly charming "Pirate Radio," it's a generous helping of "So Long, Marianne." On "American Idol," it's not if but when someone will sing "Hallelujah." I've heard his songs on "Without a Trace," "House," and "Lie to Me," and his songs are just as likely to be performed on shows I don't watch. From "Shrek" to "Secretary" to "Natural Born Killers," you can find his distinctive brand of sex and spirituality, of nakedness in all its forms, of repetition, juxtaposition, and parallel construction that are by turns too much and not enough. So, in case your collection has some holes in it, here's a list of albums, in the order you should buy them.

The Essential Leonard Cohen (2002)

This is desert-island music: 31 songs spanning 34 years. The hopeless is balanced—or at least ameliorated—by the hopeful, so wrist-slashing can be deferred. Allow these exquisite songs (performed in chronological order) to help you get your bearings. The first time through, the album should be listened to in its entirety, with earphones, while sprawled on the bed, alone. This technique should also be employed by first-time listeners of Pink Floyd's "The Wall" and Janis Ian's "Between the Lines."

When I'm listening to "The Essential LC" in the car, I only skip one song ("First We Take Manhattan"), and I don't always skip it. Another song ("Ain't No Cure for Love") is in sore need of a ruthless edit and a new arrangement. I'd suggest that to Leonard, if he and I were sitting together at a sidewalk cafe in Krakow, or Toronto. I'd drink tea. He'd drink room-temperature milk. I'd wear a black skirt, tall boots, and a cashmere scarf I purchased at a second-hand store. He'd talk about a woman, and how they once spent a weekend at a nearby hostel. Her thighs were flawless, and she had a birthmark near the small of her back. The birthmark was the color of nearly ripe plums, and the shape of Krakow, or Toronto.

Also, feel free to spend a couple of hours locked in the bathroom with the album cover.

Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967)

Now, it's time to trace the roots. I bought this record album for two dollars in the early 1970s when it was remaindered in a drugstore bin. I was in high school, and this music was somewhat of a departure from "Rocky Mountain High" and "Sweet Baby James."

"Some girls wander by mistake, into the mess that scalpels make," Leonard sings. There are songs about strangers, and teachers, and masters. Masters! Imagine! I sneaked out of school during mandatory pep rallies, rushed home, and lay face-down on the shag carpet to listen to this album on the console stereo. "Are your lessons done? Are your lessons done? Are your lessons..."

So, I don't recommend it lightly. I haven't been able to face it in decades. The sepia photo on the album cover looks like a passport photo. It was taken "by machine." "Of course it was," I imagine my younger sister saying, as she slips her hand between her legs.

This album contains five songs we haven't yet heard, and all are good. Four of the five will not show up on subsequent albums, and "One of Us Cannot be Wrong" will be addressed soon. Of course, you could listen to this album before "The Essential LC." I'm simply trying to protect you from spending too much time in the fetal position.

Field Commander Cohen: Tour of 1979 (2001)

This album features live versions of three great songs that—inexplicably—do not appear on "The Essential LC." They are "The Window," "The Smokey Life," and "The Gypsy's Wife." There are live versions of songs we've already heard, and we're introduced to several more good songs.

I've noticed that the live version of a song perfected in the disciplined confines of a studio is not always a treat (a lesson that was driven home at a very disappointing Don McLean concert). But Leonard is an exception: The live versions are sometimes better than the studio versions. The arrangements are interesting; the pace is unhurried. I don't know how he elicits the necessary discipline from the musicians and singers. Maybe he threatens to stop sleeping with them.

The album cover features another black-and-white photo of Leonard. On the album mentioned above, he looks a little wounded. On this album, he looks like he'll be the one doing the wounding, thank you very much.

Recent Songs (1979)

What a pleasure to listen to this album! We know one song from "The Essential LC" and three from "Field Commander Cohen." Five more good songs are included here, and nowhere else. All are beautiful, all are brilliant, but my favorite is "Ballad of the Absent Mare." This song, perhaps more than any other, reminds us that Leonard is a poet, unsurpassed in this century or the last. The themes pile up, one on top of the other, each more intimate and enduring than the one before, until I can hardly draw breath.

It seems to me that Leonard's abiding popularity stems from his willingness to look at a situation long past the point when others look away. He keeps watching, he keeps writing, while others avert their eyes in an attempt to avoid pain and shame. Usually, his gaze is turned inward, and he shares what he sees, without making it pretty, without making it easy. He offers no excuses. "Here's to the few who forgive what you do, and the fewer who don't even care," he writes (but not on this album).

I frequently skip "The Lost Canadian," which he sings in French. One might suppose that would be enough of a draw, but it is not.

Cohen Live (1994)

Let's enjoy one more live album. It includes an orchestral version of "One of Us Cannot be Wrong" that should not be missed. The barely-in-check emotions, the wretched humility, the truly impressive rhyme scheme...this song is perfect. The 1967 version no doubt tore you apart, and now you can suffer along with this larger version. The album includes many songs we've already heard (including additional verses of "Hallelujah"), and we're introduced to a couple more good songs.

Songs from a Room (1969)

Now that we're feeling more emotionally robust, we can revisit the 1960s, and another heartbreaking album. Don't be fooled by the cheery melody of "Tonight will be Fine." It's tragic. Not in a French-resistance-fighter way like "The Partisan," but in a more typical way, as a lover anticipates things ending poorly. Again.

More than half of the remaining songs on this album are excellent. There's some fairly grim subject matter (suicide, abortion, ritualized abuse), but I always smile as I sing along with "Lady Midnight."

Songs of Love and Hate (1970)

This is your only chance to hear "Love Calls You by Your Name," which is lovely. The songs on this album (those that we haven't already heard) are mostly good. And it's the only cover photo in which Leonard is smiling.

The Future (1992)

My younger sister gave me this album several years ago, and it served to reignite my love affair with Leonard. I listened to it dozens of times before calling her and declaring it the perfect album. It has social commentary, old-time religion, and senior citizens getting some action. In my opinion, it also offers the sexiest song ever written, "Light as the Breeze" (which manages to be even sexier when performed by Billy Joel). Most of the songs, though, are on "The Essential LC." Those that did not make the cut are not up to Leonard's usual standards. So, the only reason to buy this album is to hear "Light as the Breeze." Do it. Also, buy "Tower of Song," for Billy Joel's cover, along with several other topnotch covers.

Dear Heather (2004)

This is Leonard's last studio album. (He has released three live albums since, but I don't have them.) It would be a mistake to let this album serve as an introduction to Leonard, because it is not representative of his body of work. In fact, the song "Dear Heather" is baffling. I don't know if Leonard is outsmarting us, testing us, or messing with us; I do know that I always skip this song. However, there are other songs that make this much-maligned album worth owning. I love "The Letters" and "The Faith," among others. There's a heartfelt song about the attacks of 9/11, and there's a song about a woman and her small child "...caught in the grip of an undertow." So...enjoy!

This album reminds us that Leonard adores women, and that they adore him in return. I think he adores women. He seems to. I saw him on film once, alluding to the possibility that it's all just a con (but maybe that was the con). We're all con men to some degree, willing to manipulate others to get what we want. Leonard admits it, though, which makes women trust him. Which sounds a bit like the premise of a "Criminal Minds" episode...

Ten New Songs (with Sharon Robinson) (2001)

We've heard the best songs from this album (pay attention to "Alexandra Leaving"). The other songs are romantic, and seem to encourage slow dancing. I'm glad these kids collaborated.

New Skin for the Old Ceremony (1974)

We've heard several of these songs, and the rest are good, with an occasional glimpse of greatness. He's so young here. He seems...undefended. Here, and elsewhere, he invites us to watch him suffer (he demands that we watch). I bought this record album when I was seventeen, listened to it once, and decided I hated it. I didn't throw it away, because I liked the name of the album, and the scandalous cover art. But I refused to listen to it a second time, until I was in my forties.

(I've been listening to this album more since I wrote about it, and I've fallen quite in love with it. I can't get enough of the nearly overwrought "Leaving Green Sleeves." Whenever I listen to it in the car, I think "That's a little weird," and then I hit Repeat and listen to it until the car pulls into the driveway. He's so naked in the song.)

The Best of (1975)

This is an excellent compilation, but you have all of these songs if you've been following the recommended order (up to and including "Songs of Love and Hate").

I'm Your Man (1988)

This is also a very good album, and another decidedly sexy song. Almost all of these songs, though, are on "The Essential LC," and the remaining two are forgettable.

Various Positions (1984)

We've heard the best songs from this album. There are a few we haven't heard, and they're fine, but not...essential.

Live Songs (1973)

We've heard the good songs from this album. Enjoy the album cover, though, and the somewhat menacing photo. In earlier and later photos, he appears earnest. Here, he looks a bit ruthless, like the "thin gypsy thief" he mentions in an earlier album.

More Best Of (1997)

Again, we've heard the good songs from this album.

Death of a Ladies' Man (1977)

This unfortunate album was produced by Phil Spector, who is currently serving a prison sentence of 19 years to life (for unrelated crimes). The only good song is "Memories," and it's much better on "Field Commander Cohen" than it is here.

*

Buying and listening in this order will ensure that you don't miss any really great songs, or any exceptional arrangements. Of course, there's nothing wrong with buying all the albums (minus the then-unnecessary Greatest Hits albums) and listening in chronological order. That sounds like a fun (if long) day.

And there's nothing wrong with taking a more haphazard approach to loving Leonard. I'd like to study him in college, the way one might study Jane Austen or Marcel Proust, graduating with no discernible skills. But I realize that others are content to hear "Suzanne" on the radio occasionally, or "Anthem."

There's a film in which we watch a young Leonard order room service in French, wearing somewhat-ratty skivvies and T-shirt. When the grilled cheese sandwich and glass of milk arrive, he eats standing up. One can imagine (well, I can imagine) that he's thinking about what to do next, that he's weighing his options, both sacred and profane. And as quickly as those lines are fixed, they are blurred. And those blurred lines fuel a career that spans 43 years and counting.

So, go buy some music. Preferably before we're subjected to "Famous Blue Raincoat" as performed by the cast of "Glee."