Ghrelin and Leptin

Sounds suspiciously like two characters from the Lord Of The Rings trilogy, doesn't it? 
Actually, not.

These two are hormones that apparently work in consort to wreck havoc on your body. Leptin purports to signal your brain that you are full, Ghrelin stimulates your appetite.  The Yin and Yang of a dieters nightmare. Added to this, or so scientists conject, is how much sleep you get causes these two to go into overdrive.

These studiers of doom and gloom tell us that if you are sleep deprived you eat more, get a good eight hours and viola, a skinnier you.

The exception to this is everyone I know.

I read this article a few times and would offer this insight.

Half the subjects were allowed to sleep nine hours a night. Were allowed to sleep nine hours? And they weren't teenagers? Drugs and alcohol weren't consumed, to the best of my knowledge. They lost weight.

And when these very same subjects were moved into the sleep deprived group, they ate more. Clearly these scientists weren't testing for cranky. 

While an induced coma might be a tad drastic, think how skinny you'd be when they bring you back...

 

 

 

Some guys have all the luck

I suspect when Rod Stewart crooned this tune he wasn't thinking about little furry rodents.

Clearly some University of Bonn scientists were.

These enterprising scientists made the discovery that if they fed viagra to mice (who had raised their little mouse paws and  volunteered for this experiment, agreeing that getting shocked on the way to finding the cheese was getting old). Anyway, in addition to the perks associated with using Viagra, they lost weight.

No muffin tops for these studly mice. 

Of course, being sacrificed at the end of the week could have been considered a deterrent for volunteering.  

I wonder if the scientists had these little guys monitered after the lab closed for the evening. After all, a motivation for any middle aged mouse is not only to be able to sustain an erection, hopefully for not more than 4 hours as using their little mouse paws to call their physician could prove to be problematic, but to look great while doing the dance of love.

Had the scientists, I contend, been viewing the after hours proceedings they would have learned that the benefit of weight loss was not attributed to the viagra at all, but to the organization of a rigorous exercise class.

 

 

Evolutionary Data

"Do you want the extra deep scrubbing, scraping, abrasive rubbing callous treatment, hon" said Mildred my mani pedi expert, examining them criticially after having me remove them from the almost scalding hot water that I was afraid to tell her was scalding for fear of antagonizing her. She does wield a razor, you know.

"Actually, no" I murmured, "they are supposed to look that way, it's an evolutionary thing."

Eyeing me suspiciously, she hunched her shoulders, said something unintelligble under her breath, and grabbed a toe furiously filing it into submission.

Obviously, Mildred was not a recepient of the monthly magazine Darwinian Today that I was slavishly devoted to.

Had she been up on the latest explanations for our current condition she would have known that wrinkled and calloused fingers and toes were a result of naturally selecting those who could remain stationery and upright on a wet rock while foraging for sale items and mark downs. 

The scientific community was still somewhat at odds as to why, evolutionarily speaking, this was only an intermittent condition and that fingers and feet were not permanently wrinkled.

Had they consulted me, I would have given them this obvious explanation.

Total body wrinkled skin, a permanent middle aged condition, was clearly enough of a turn off to discontinue the propagation of the species. Hence an evolutionary explanation as to why there was a permanent decline of desire to have a romp in the cave. Wrinkled feet and toes while momentarily sexually unattractive, when returned to their pre wading in the water natural state guaranteed the production of another generation. 

Married how many times??

The conversation flows, the mutual interests are established, the overlaps are incredible. Is there nothing we don't share, you wonder?

Multiple "I do's" might be one.

Unless this particular person is a practicing polygamist, I've never quite understood the concept of marrying more than, oh let's just say, a couple of times. Three times or more...not so much.

Perhaps, its been suggested, removing "I do" from one's vocabulary and substituting "maybe", "I'll think about it," or "ask me next year" might work. But, for matters of the heart, and additionally the pockets of divorce lawyers, it appears that I do, I do, I do...forever and ever and ever, until it isn't, works for some.

So it is with some perverse glee that I find myself combing the NY Times Sunday Style section to read about those that are in the throes of forever and ever. The need for the inclusion of the bride's previous 3 marriages, the groom's previous 2 marriages, all ending in divorce seems a tab bit of too much information and a portent of not so much happily ever after, don't you think?  I can picture a cadre of divorce lawyers combing these pages too, making a list, sending a letter of introduction, maybe. 

Included, recently, was the announcement of a marriage of a young couple who, it seems to me, might be working in consort with the legal community. This particularly enterprising new bride has a business, you see, called "I do now I don't". 

Not sure what to get the thrice married? A link to this site might be the perfect gift. 

 

Are You "Still The One?"

Had Shania been singing "Happy Trails To You" this image might have worked for me.

Apparently, according to the NY Times, she was warbling "You're Still The One."

Maybe she's onto something.

That is, if she and Trigger have been an item for the past 20 years, or are in the throes of lust two years into their union.

According to the Times article New Love: A short shelf life  researchers have determined that "wedded bliss has a limited shelf life."

For those of you are past the 15-20 year married mark read on and revel in the validation. For the rest of you, read the article and nod in recognition of why the love had gone south.

It seems, or so say the researchers, that familiarity breeds contempt. Surprise, conversely, keeps the ardor alive. That is, I suspect, as long as the surprise doesn't take the form of "well, love, I'm leaving you for another."

Or in the case of Shania, hopefully while nuzzling her new husband, she makes sweet murmuring cooing noises, rather than neighs.

 

Predictable or Unpredictable??

He said he'd call, he called. He said he'd pick you up at 7, promptly at 7 the doorbell rang. He said you didn't look fat in those jeans. You believed him. That one doesn't count, gullible and predictable are not interchangeable. 

Had he not called, picked you up at 8 and really thought long and hard before commenting on your ass, while you waited with baited breathe, you'd apparently be more inclined to be attracted to him.

Really?

Really.

At least according to the latest research. Unpredictable behavior is more alluring. The brain, it appears, is wired to react more favorably to stimuli that wasn't predictable. 

We all know someone who has lamented to anyone in earshot that they are in love with a cad. The outcome of this lament will be, no doubt, a "but I love the guy."

Now if her friends understand it is a physiologically prompted need perhaps they will be more forgiving.

Unlikely.

The conventional wisdom is that we'd all be institutionalized if only unpredictable behavior guided our choices. "Our conscious knowledge", says the author of the article, "overrides our unhealthy or undesirable impulses all the time." It continues with "we are expected to be in charge of our brains."

These researches apparently haven't met Brittney Spears, the Kardashians, or Rihanna, nor any life long members of overeaters anonymous. 

 

Want a election day diversion?

Are you a label reader? Do you carefully, thoughtfully and compulsively need to know every ingredient in your food? Too much salt, not enough vitamin B,D,C, too high in sugar?

GMO's are the next piece of info to be considered. Genetically Modified Organisms. Trips off the tongue, doesn't it? 

Will a visual help?

 

If you want to cast your vote as to whether or not foods that are genetically engineered should be labeled as such you'll have to live in California. That's because California is the only state giving this some serious thought. And putting it to the voter. And most of the entertainment community is coming out in favor of labeling.

"You should know" they contend, "what is in your food." 

Let's think about this some more.

It's happening first in California. The entertainment industry is behind this. Need to know what you are putting in your body. How will it change my body chemistry? My future health? 

Want another visual?

 

 

Good news for chubettes?

Is there a correlation to your BMI (for those who skipped that chapter, it's your body mass index) and your dating life?

Frankly, I think that any sentence with the word 'mass' in it, except for religious purposes, is probably setting you up for disappointment. Nonetheless, once those numbers have been calculated you fall, like Goldilocks, into the category of--too small, too large or just right. 

If  'just right' ain't happening you've a few choices.You can vigorously fight that bulge battle, determined to torture yourself into a one digit size, alternatively, you might be quite contented with your girth and figure that the 'more to love' adage works.

That is, if you can find the one who subscribes to that 'more to love' philosophy.

So then, where to find the one?

According to a new study in the Journal PLoS One they found that men under stress prefer heavier women.

What I didn't get from the study was how come? I suspect I can conjure up a few guesses, mostly having to do with comfort food therapy or pendulous breast nestling fantasies.

If that works for you and your are determined to find the one, not reduce your girth, and are actively seeking that mate, here's a suggestion.

Hang around your local CVS. If you see someone putting in a prescription for Xanax, immediately introduce yourself as an alternative. 

Have him buy you a candy bar, or two, on the way out insuring a wonderful future together.

 

 

.

 

 

A sad day for happyish

Okay, men, this one is for you. Remember this tune?  "I want to be happy, but I can't be happy, 'til I make you happy too."

Not happening.

Unless, that is, you have her undergo an extensive DNA mapping to determine if she has the gene marker for MAOA, also known as the  "happy gene."

I kid you not. 

Women, this is not a  moment quid pro moment. Men don't appear to have this version of the gene. Their version seems to make them aggressive. The warrior gene.

Go figure.

One would have thought that with enough of the population having this gene marker it would contribute to a more upbeat world view, but in actuality that's not the case. Anxiety and its evil twin sister anger can supercede the genes function.

So sad.

But, if you're not bummed by the flat chest or piano legs or curly hair, that you've inherited, you now know she's given you an extra dose of MAOA.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aspirations

Having no skill set for loftier goals, like developing sustainable agricultural techniques or saving endangered species, I've set my sights somewhat lower.

I want to write the next incarnation of a Shades of Grey trilogy.

It's been called the erotic breakout novel of the digital download revolution. Downloadable, it's been said by those who are snarky, so if you are reading it in a public venue no one would know.

No matter, Ms. E.L. James is going to make a great deal of money. That would be a multi seven figure great deal of money...

And that is motivation enough for me.

Really, even if I could come up with a plan to save endangered species, it really doesn't pay much, does it?

Ms. James, in the myriad of interviews I've seen, has been delightfully self deprecating. I can do that. She's middle aged. I can relate. Fighting the battle of the bulge is probably something we share. She admits to not being very disciplined. I call my lack of discipline, affectionately, by it's pet name, ...HDAD. And her book, I'm told, while being touted as erotica, doesn't really offer up any steamy sex. Another condition I can, sadly, relate to.

But she wrote it, and I have not, and probably can't, let alone won't.

I suppose I need to reconsider my apirations list. I must not look to be rich, famous and maligned as an author of, not quite but almost, smut. I will be a humanitarian.

Tomorrow I will save the rhubarb from extinction while I simultaneously save Willy.