Column by Ben Levine
Levine is a junior politics major
and can be reached at
I, first and foremost, would like to thank you for your tireless effort to protect the citizens of New York City from asymmetrical threats that lurk in supermarkets all across the United States. If only all mayors — nay, all leaders in this great country — took such measures to protect his or her subjects — I mean constituents — from the vile and monstrous enemy known as pop, soda or cola, depending on your area of residence. “Everybody across this country should do it,” you once said. Truer words have never been spoken. With child obesity becoming an increasing problem across this nation, Americans need protection provided by fearless men and women such as you. We simply are not smart enough to make decisions about our own health and certainly do not possess adequate defenses against the big, bad corporations that are systematically ruining our health. Additionally, parents can no longer, well, parent. We need you, Mayor Bloomberg, to guide us to the light.
I have just a few recommendations, if you would be so kind to grant a mere plebe such as myself a few minutes of your time. Take this in for a moment: If you think regulating the size of sodas a restaurant, movie theater, pushcart and sports arena can sell is important, you need to take a look at the ridiculously enticing offers Little Caesars puts on its menu.
I know it isn’t top-of-the-line New York pizza, but, my goodness, is it addicting. Sure, a 16 oz. Mountain Dew draws me in like a smooth Barry White track, but it pales in comparison to a greasy, cheesy pizza with an odd Italian dude on the box. There isn’t a shot in hell that I have the grit to say no to a Hot-N-Ready pizza when it is only $5. And, as if to spit in the face of every weak-willed American, Little Caesars is now selling deep-dish pizza for only $8. So, I ask myself, who can save us from this? Only one man: you.
You, Mayor Bloomberg, can say no for all of us. Run for president and, as Mitt Romney made promises about what he would do on “Day One,” on the first day in office get rid of the Hot-N-Ready assault on my BMI.
Next: Bunch-A-Crunch. You know, the little bunches of Crunch bars that are so heavenly I finish them before the previews even start. I’ll be sitting there in the theater, answering a trivia question about which star got his break-through role in “The Fast and the Furious” (Paul Walker, of course), when I realize I’ve gotten to the bottom of the box of candy. If only you were there with me I could have some control. Certainly, it’d be ideal if you were quite literally in the theater with me, but I understand you have your limits. Since that simply isn’t feasible, perhaps you could be with me in law. I want, rather I need, you to tell me stop consuming this delicious candy. Disregard the happiness stuffing my face full of chocolate brings me. It isn’t good for my health and without you I can’t hold back.
I could write recommendations for days but I don’t want to take up too much of your time. What I’m saying, in essence, is I appreciate your full-throttled effort to limit New Yorkers’ choices in life. Because, after all, without you they can’t take care of themselves. The same goes for me and all Americans. Freedom of choice is bad for my health.