Willpower

Defined as...Self control. Determination. Drive. Grit. Single mindedness.

Can you relate?

Picture Helen, who wasn't going to indulge in even the teeniest, tiniest, itsy bitsyish, mini slice of the cake she had just baked. Controlled. Determined. Eating the left over batter, licking the icing from the knife (after tasting it three, okay seventeen times with her soup ladle (where did she put that tablespoon?) and, lastly, wasn't an eight inch round just simply too big? Compelled to carve it into a six inch round, and being no where near the garbage, Helen consumed the 2 inches of excess.  

But she did not eat a slice of cake.

Immediately Helen called her Weight Watcher, Over Eater Anonymous and Jenny Craig support groups to be commended and congratulated. 

Had she truly exerted self control? 

Actually. Yes.

At least according to the social psychologists Roy Baumeister and the science editor of the New York Times, John Tierney, she did. In their book "Willpower" Rediscovering the Greater Human Strength" they concluded that "willpower is limited and depends on a continuous supply of the simple sugar glucose." When glucose is depleted, you fall prey to impulse shopping, affairs and cookies."

Let me understand this.

If you want to maintain self control, eat a few cookies. Not enough cookies and you might throw yourself on the nearest available warm body, after buying those coveted Jimmy Choo's, and finishing off the entire packet of Oreos?

Does this make sense to you?

Apparently it doesn't make sense to Veronica Job a psychologist who avers that "willpower can be quite limited, but only if you believe it is."  In other words, willpower is in your head, not because of your body's biology.

Let's see.

Tell yourself often and loudly that you won't lose control and indulge in a spree of your choice. Or, eat some cookies, a banana or two, maybe a Mars Bar and your appetites are sated? 

Pass the guacomole, I'm going with door number 2.

 

 

 

 

Deceptions

"You look great, gorgeous, fantastic," he said.  "Oh, no, really, I don't" she said, casting her eyes downward, eyelashes a flutter. Gently rearranging the curl that had fallen into her line of vision, was she pantomiming the ultimate female flirt maneuver?

Actually not.

She was, in fact, quickly scanning the latest computer software she had downloaded. Not remembering the name of her newest app, "Liar Liar Pants on Fire" while seemingly very pedestrian, nonetheless popped into her head. 

Imagine it.

No shifty eyes giving one away.     

"I'll call. Had a great time. Let's do this again." 

"It's a very very safe investment."

"Don't you age?"

Sweetly murmured sentiments. Terms of endearment. Heartfelt.

And in the palm of your hand, with a flick of your finger you ask your fantastic iphone 4, "is this all true," and it coos softly back to you "not a word of it."

 

 

 

 

Seeing is Believing

In 1968, the story goes, some enterprising creatives at the venerated advertising agency BBDO slipped 15 marbles, or thereabouts, under the vegetables in a bowl of vegetable soup. Not for flavor enhancement, you understand, but to keep the vegetables from sinking to the bottom of the bowl.  Clever?

Apparently not.

The FTC, the watchdog of communications, declared that advertising with false claims was a no no.

Really?

Didn't you think, as I did, that Lite foods would make you skinnier, dabbing a bit of fragrance here and there, you'd be irresistable, slathering toning cream all over your body would result in nary a wrinkle, dent or bump?

The FTC, apparently, only moniters out and out manipulations not wishful thinking.

Worried you've been had?? Duped? What you see isn't real??

There's hope on the horizon.

Sooner than later you can have your very own photoshop detector.

In the works is a software tool to measure how much a beauty or fashion photo has been altered. Can you imagine? The age spots actually didn't disappear, the waist line didn't shrink, the lashes didn't grow.

And, for the online dating world, total and complete havoc will ensue. 

I love it.

             

 

 

 

 

 

 

Multiple Choices

"So," he wrote to her in his first 'on line find your soulmate forever and ever' correspondence, "you stated you like to travel. What's been your favorite place, thus far"?

"Oh, that's easy," she responded, "without a doubt, following the Spice trail."

Never heard back from him.

Did he picture her wandering aimlessly around her local supermarket aisle, seeking the latest in McCormick's chicken rub? 

"I wonder" she asked me "what was the answer he was looking for? "Mud wrestling in Idaho? "Monster Truck drag racing down South?" "Spelunking in Hal caverns?"  "What can I do?" she implored.

Clearly nothing. 

"I suppose" I offered up to her, "you could request from this on line hopeful that he supply you with some acceptable answers. Perhaps he could put it into a true false format? Fill-ins, might work."

"Great idea" she responded, naively. And, so she did. Critically rereading his profile for context clues, she carefully devised an answer with all the options that might appeal to him. Sent it off, eager and hopeful.

Right.

Undaunted, she moved forward. 

 

Making sense of senescent

Take a good luck at this image. Which one is the healthy one?

Finished?

It's the little guy on the right. Would you have picked him?  

That's why I'm not a scientist, but a slave to the fashion magazines. I was certain that the sleek, okay gaunt one, was the epitome of healthy. Slightly hunch back, maybe because he's never gotten used to being tall.

Anyhow, want to know why the clearly chubbier one is the healthy one?

He's had his senescent cells zapped. Gone, out, finished, kaput. And what do these senescent cells do? They age us.

Three words that should never be in a sentence together.

Remove these cells and viola, age related diseases are eradicated.

In mice.

But scientists are working on this for us humans. If they can, during our middle years,  make these nasty cells go away, our knees might not creak, our eyes may remain clear, and our skin may remain supple.

Don't get too excited. It isn't happening in your lifetime. Or mine.

But if you know any aging mice, let them know there's hope.

 

 

 

 

 

Seasonal Trauma

It's that time of the year again, isn't it?

I'm not talking about desperately trying to locate last years unbelievably outstanding, to die for, turkey stuffing recipe; recalculating how many pounds of butternut squash it takes to make a really hearty, freezable soup good for the next 2 Thanksgivings; figuring out who sits next to who at the feast, if you could remember who's not talking to whom.

It's the time of the year that requires swapping out your summer wardrobe for your winter stuff.

Swapping out, of course, means different things to different folk. For some it's moving stuff from one closet to another closet, and vice versa (I know three people who can do that); for others it's  moving stuff from the front of their closet to the back of their closet; for others it's simply acknowledging that the stuff on the left side is for summer, the stuff on the right for winter. 

In any case, here's what most of the mere mortals I know go through...

"Will I wear it again?" "Did I wear it in the last year?" "Have I ever worn it?" "Did I not return it to whomever I had borrowed it from?" "Whom did I borrow it from?"

And it continues. 

"What was I thinking about when I bought that?" "Will it come back into style?" "Was it ever in style?' 

And then the dreaded dreaded last question. The question that strikes fear into the hearts of all...The moment of truth. 

"Will any of this stuff still fit me?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Runner's High

I have great admiration for the journalist Nicholas Kristof.  He doubted WMD in Iraq.  He focused his attention on genocide in Dafur. His columns dissect the issues of poverty, gender and health. 

He is also a self proclaimed pathological runner. Loves running. "Was he" he wondered "addicted to running?"  "An exercise addict"? 

Clearly, it seems to me,  if one is going to boast an addiction, it should be for something good for you, like running. Admitting to being addicted to, oh, drugs and alcohol, doesn't have the same cachet, nor yield the same reactions. 

Since I know that running is a way more healthy addiction than, let's say, chocolate or alcohol, addictions of choice of most everyone I know, what's the reason we do one rather than the other?

Apparently, scientists know that deep within the brain there are areas of pleasure and addiction. "Pleasure centers." The scientists conclude that '.brain circuitry of the pleasure centers rewire to have the body steadily ratchet up the quantity necessary to provide the same high." 

Lay's potato chip slogan "bet you can't eat just one," was written with this concept in mind, it would seem.

What's confusing to me is where does the guilt circuitry reside? 

In the meantime, scientists will continue to work on new tools to aide in the fight of drug, alcohol and obesity addictions. Sex addictions, too.

We'll all be healthier, but will we be having a good time?

 

Vanity, thy name is woman

Actually, the correct Shakespearean quip is "frailty, thy name is woman."

Frailty, however, was no longer a useful descriptor of woman what with the advent of hormone replacement therapy coupled with the biphosphonates. Sally Fields became the patron saint of maintaining height, frailty banished from our vernacular.

So, anyhow, here's my question.

When you first looked at the image of this young woman what came to mind?

Did you see it as a strong political statement about the state of the union?

Or, did you, as I did, wonder if she'd be really upset about how her outstretched arms looked?"

Frankly, all things being equal, I think her arms look pretty good.

Maybe thirty years ago, I was an attendee at a Bette Midler concert. She glanced at her own outstretched arms, and wondered aloud "when did they take on a life of their own" and then proceeded to continue to strut her stuff without missing a beat. 

We all laughed. Now we just nod in agreement.

So if you see me at a future protest be sure to wave to me. I'll recognize you since you, like me, will be wearing a long sleeved shirt.

 

 

 

 

The Last Rose of Summer

Right, it's a hydrangea.

But, even Thomas Moore knew that hydrangea wouldn't work itself gracefully into a line of poetry.

And besides, finding one rose alive and well while all its mates are preparing themselves to become sachet, wasn't easy.

Anyhow, don't know about you, but for me this image provokes a myriad of feelings.

Ready for my philosophical moment?

Nah.

But, I do imagine for some this does cause a moment or two of reflection...beginnings, endings, time to fertilize...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Does this App Make Me Look Fat?

Gladys, feeling somewhat desperate, looked furtively around the communal dressing room.

Was there, she wondered, anyone that she could really really trust to ask, "how do I really really look in this outfit?"

My god, she realized, not a soul.

That one, over there in the corner, why she was squeezing her size 14 body into a size 4; and that woman three stalls over, didn't she know that brown was no longer the new black, and the new black is neon green, at least for the moment, until all stop wearing it as toe nail polish?

What to do?

Holding up her iphone, smiling gamely, Gladys snapped a picture of herself. Quickly posting it to her Go Try It On phone app she breathlessly waited for feedback. Within minutes she received responses as to how she looked, what accessories to add, and a smattering of diet recommendations. 

Wondering who these arbiters of fashion might be was incidental to Gladys. The consensus was buy buy buy. Could these respondents possibly be employees of the store? Were they laying in wait, watching for the posing and snapping to take place? Would they then be running off into the bowels of the store to register their opinions? 

Never.

So I am going to download this App immediately.

After all, why wouldn't I trust a cadre of strangers who possibly believe Britney Spears is a fashion icon, to comment on my selection?