The Magnetic Diet

Introduction

When it came time to burn the body, the only thing louder than the wailing of the mourners was the roar of the furnace. "We dig our graves with our teeth," said the poet Lucretius. The death we were mourning was tragic proof of that truth.

Before his passing he had it all: the Lamborghini, a $3 million palace over looking the city, a private plane, restaurants, a nightclub, a beautiful wife, and two baby boys. He was a celebrated self-made multi-millionaire. He was one of my dearest friends. More than a decade earlier, we were roommates struggling to make the rent on our apartment. He had been the best man at my wedding. I loved him like a brother.

The last time I saw him he didn't look right to me. He had that same stone-gray skin tone that another friend of mine had three days before he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The look I have since come to recognize as a sign of approaching death. I remember telling my wife after he left that day that something was not right with him. When I ran into his pregnant wife downtown a few weeks later, I got straight to the point.

"How's he doing?" I asked her.

"He's fine. Just really busy," she replied.

"How is his health?"

"He's okay. I just wish he would slow down, and stop eating so much red meat."

Those were her exact words. A month later, and only a couple of weeks after the birth of his second son, he died of a heart attack. He

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