You read that correctly. 

Somewhere out there, there is a group of scientists who are actually touting the benefits of menopause.

Clearly, they must be hanging with a younger crowd. 

Nonetheless, they contend hot flashes might actually be a good thing depending on when they strike.

Depending on when they strike??

A first date I imagine, for any woman queried, would not be a good time. But reading on, I found that what they meant was women who had hot flashes at the start of menopause, but not later, seemed to have a lower risk for heart attack and death, then women who never had hot flashes.

Probably the lower risk of death was because their loved ones decided not to kill them. 

Women who developed hot flashes years after the onset of menopause had higher incidents of heart attacks and death. See, that proves the theory. Having thought they got away without any symptoms, then wham…

"I think I'm going to kill myself" are not idle words.

Scientists have discovered that cell phone usage causes an increase in brain glucose (or sugar) metabolism.

My first reaction was a huge wow. An increase in my metabolism?! Terrific, with the amount of time I spend on my phone I'll be a size 2 in no time.

Not so much.

Here's why. As a sobering explanation, if you eat and drink too much, your glucose level is raised and the effect on the brain is that you compromise your ability to concentrate, remember and learn.

Great.

Talk on the phone for fifty minutes or longer, simultaneously throw back a cheeseburger and forget your name. 

There is good news.

This particular study was only able to document that there was an increase in brain activity. Whether or not it is harmful, in the long or short term, remains to be seen.

Texting, anyone?

Any budding zoologists out there?

If so, you'll know that my weight lifting, furry friend is neither rat nor mouse.

If you want to be able to positively identify what it is, retain the information, and be able to recall it, hmmm, lets say as far out as two days from now, get thee to the gym.

But, say researchers from Brazil, get off the treadmill, elliptical machine or stair stepper and hoist those weights instead, if you want to improve brain functioning.

Let's consider how this research was conducted. "Weights were secured to the tails of a group of rats then the researchers had them climb a ladder,  five sessions of this activity a week. Other rats on the same schedule ran on a treadmill, and a third group just sat around." 

Secured weights to the tails of rats? 

The conclusion of this study, as well as a similar study conducted in Japan, was that endurance and weight training seemed to make the rats smarter. Cognitive functioning improved.

Trying to verify this, I decided to see who might be the next presiding leader of the organization called Mensa, the high IQ society.

And there you have it. 

Would you rather eat 1 bag of M&M's (236 calories) or 1 broiled skinless boneless 5 oz chicken breast (230 calories)?

Given a choice, I'd rather have a 6 oz. glasses of wine (200 calories) but hey, that's me.

Nonetheless, the debate rages. Weight Watchers, after it's 48 year history of having you indulge in double chocolate muffins, with reckless abandon mind you–as long as you don't exceed your alloted points, are now saying…oh my…it's EMPTY calories.

Really?

They have revamped their point system.  Now you can eat your body weight in fruit. 0 points.  Eat foods high in protein and fiber, beware of carbs and fats.

I ask you, how many bananas, unless your name is Cheetah, can you consume in a day?

To add to the confusion a friend sent me this article The Twinkie Diet.  A Professor of Nutrition, clearly experiencing an adolescent redeux, ate pretty much nothing but Twinkies, supplemented by Ring Dings, Oreos, and Doritos. The chaser, apparently, was a multi vitamin. His caloric intact did not exceed 1800 calories.  In two months he lost 27 lbs. 

The jury appears to be out on the healthy/unhealthy debate. His markers to measure this, gulp, improved. What's a body to do?

Let's look at this realistically.

Any chubbette I know who signs up for Weight Watchers is looking to lose weight. Period. Healthy? Not so much. Except when asked, "do you eat healthy?" Then, of course, the answer is, "certainly. I just eat too much of healthy."

Right.  

This time of the year poses challenges for most of us.

Okay, not most, some.

Maybe just me.

Summer is over.

I read somewhere about the biological imperative to store fat during the winter, a hold over from our prehistoric roots. Personally, I would have preferred to have intuitively known how to saute a mastodon, but apparently that wasn't a trait worth keeping.

What's a gal to do?

Right. 

Think Olympian. A gold medal. A goal, a purpose, a reason to eat everything within reach. Still maintaining a workout schedule, a bone building regiment, to stave off, for a bit, the inevitable, ultimate shrinking frame. 

There are, of course, alternative plans, courses of action, ways to deal.

                                                         You choose.

A new offering from Starbucks, perhaps?

Not exactly.

Muffins, in this case, refer to those singularly unattractive doughy things that somehow seem to overspill the tops of trousers, "menopaunches." "Moobs" is a conflagation of man and boobs. (Thank you Howard Jacobson of the London Independent).

My apologies, Jack…clearly not a camera ready pose.

What's a guy to do?

Spanx.

His and hers.

If having a honey caught rifling through your underwear drawer might have been grounds for divorce, it appears that this might no longer be the case.

He is looking to try on your "suck you in, lift you up, jiggle containment" garment. After all, if it works, why not?

Except, perhaps, as a prelude for an evening's amorous romp. As women have known for sometime, the truth spills out. 

Spill, unfortunately, is the operative word in that sentence. 

Dotting the overhead landscape, colorfully flapping in the proverbial breeze, the "what we wore today" is on display.

See any tighty whities? 

Rarely. 

Perhaps some items are simply relegated to an inside area to dry. 

I ask you, do the neighbors need to know everything?

It depends.

I suspect if you were able to be sporting these you might have a change of heart about what the neighbors think.
 

For two reasons.

It appears that in addition to activating any fantasies about what is under Pierre's denims, the coverage of his skivvies may just be the barometer  of economic growth.

Okay, I did take liberties with the undergarment story as this theory of correlation to economic growth has to do with bathing suits…but I imagine that if the theory were to hold true then wouldn't oversized boxers shrinking down to an itsy bitsy bikini type garment portend the same thing.

So the next time you are in Europe take note of the drying garments suspended overhead.  You might be able to figure out which way the Euro is headed.

Do you worry? 

I'm not talking about the big stuff. Nothing that would show up in a Thomas Friedman column. 

It's the really really, personally important, how did I actually exist without this, get through my day, information stuff. 

Makeup Expiration kits. Yup. For your make-up. 

Ordered on line. For around $10. Write down the date your purchased it, glue onto the product. Or your forehead.

Of course there is a disclaimer that affixing an expiration date on your mascara, cover up, concealer, gloss or spackle package doesn't mean that its shelf life is sacred. You still may be a petri dish for bacteria growing on your facial parts. You, like me, might have otherwise thought that mold green was the new colour du jour.

So, after you have sniffed your 2%, picked out the slightly brownish lettuce leaves from your salad, or rethought broiling the fish that was emitting an overly fishy aroma, you can rest assured that your foundation, mascara and blush are all in their prime. 

Like you.

You have heard, I imagine, the imperative 'publish or perish'? The nemesis of the academic community. 

What shall we research next? 

What hasn't been explored, studied, analyzed and examined in minute detail? Will we get funding? Will we be lauded in our community? 

What to do?

Not to worry. Laugh it off. 

Hows' about funding a study to examine the merits of a chuckle or two and find that there are additional benefits for the rest of us doom and gloom beings.

Or so found a group of University of Maryland scientists. Heart disease, you see, might be avoided if you have an active sense of humor. 

Here's what confounded me. "People", they observed, "with heart disease were 40 percent less likely to laugh in a variety of situations compared to people of the same age without heart disease." 

Really?

You have heart disease and now they want you to guffaw? You've lost your sense of humor? Your nails are blue and you are breathless, and you've lost your sense of humor?

Haven't you sat in a theater, heard gales of laughter around you and wondered, did I miss something? That really wasn't funny. So then, if researchers were determining responses to humor, what, I wondered, was their criteria for this measurement? 

One liners? A Jackie Mason monologue? Seeing someone trip and fall? Yeah, I am loathe to admit it…Don't know why, but I can be counted on to be both sympathetic and barely contain myself when observing someone slipping and sliding around.

Of course they added in that exercising, not smoking and eating foods low in saturated fat will reduce the risk of heart disease. That's good to know. After all, John Belushi, John Candy, Chris Farley, to name but a few, tragically died early, chuckling, snorting and guffawing their way through their lives and ours. 

So in addition to the other ditties we are taught to endure for a healthy life ( an apple a day comes to mind) remember to HO. HO. HO.

Do you know why men's casual Fridays dress down, wear a polo or tee shirt, never really took off?

A conspiracy by Brooks Brothers? Not enough variety from J. Crew? Sorbet colors aren't flattering?

Nope.

It's because they figured out their turkey wattle, jowly chins remained cleverly hidden under a buttoned to the neck, tie tightened ensemble. You understand, don't you, if it is spilling over, you can just pull, tug and tuck in whatever has taken on a life of its own. Voila! Gone.

Really, when did you last see any guy you know sporting an 'off the shoulder' number? Aside from coming face to face with age spots (otherwise euphemistically known as sun spots, which frankly doesn't sound any better than age spots) they have figured out that there is simply no place to hide what age and gravity has wrought. Alternatively, I suppose, they can upcomb their chest hair to cleverly conceal any drooping or sagging. After all, if a comb over isn't considered bizarre why should that maneuver?

I, for one, am adopting a French woman's style. I will swath myself in scarves, place a rubber band beneath my chin and over my ears, attaining the taut look I am going for. 

Still looking, oh so chic, in my off the shoulder number.