That’s not a particularly comforting ditty, is it?

Unless of course you are sensible.

And eat only grain laden, fruits and vegetables, no sugar. Perhaps emulating a chimpanzee. Surely, you’ve never seen a chubbette, unhealthy, weight watching, Atkins following one of those, have you?

On a daily basis I reconsider my choices. Usually, I have the courage of my convictions until around 6 P.M. Then all hell breaks loose.

What to do?

I’ve already established that a mouth covered with masking tape, while an attractive option, is impractical. Unless it’s a dual effort, don’t eat and lip hair removal.

A visual. Would a visual help?

Probably not. Or at least I thought so until I read the article entitled don’t tell the kids.

Let’s say that you’ll never look dispassionately at the Easter Bunny in quite the same way, ever ever again.

What’s the definition of hypocrite? Do I sincerely believe that Elsie and her friends are led to slaughter singing kumbaya?

So, I’ve decided that going forward, I am going to only hang out with my new best friends.

He’s Tarzan, she’s Jane.

My comfort food is, alas, food.

If reduced to describe something that has some childhood feel good attached to it, I offer up farfalle (bow tie) noodles, mixed with a humongous dollop of butter and cottage cheese, then salted. Probably was offered this fare, for the first time, somewhere around the age of 6. It was, I suspect, the eastern European version of mac and cheese. 

I have never actually chosen, in my adult life, to eat it again. Describe it, yes, prepare it, nope. 

My need for comfort food doesn't include making (as in cooking) anything, and certainly not cleaning up afterward. Really, what comfort do you get in that? Ripping  open a bag of something, that works.

And, I, like everyone I know who soothes themselves with comfort food, feels anything but comforted. Oh, okay, maybe during the five minutes during consumption. Upon the last chew and swallow that euphoria is quickly spelled by feelings of  guilt and self loathing. 

To be repeated, nonetheless, often.

I thought that a scientific explanation of the reason we demand carb laden things would be helpful. Perhaps this over the top, out of control behavior shouldn't be seen as a character flaw. If it has a physiological explanation, wouldn't that make us feel better?

It does.

What the carbs consumed appear to do is to increase the level of serotonin in the brain which results in a better state of mind or mood. (Clearly, no one found it necessary to figure out how long this feeling is sustainable). But, there is more. Serotonin has also been deemed as an important chemical when you are falling in love, as well as being found to be increased in obsessive compulsive disorders. 

I guess that means eat whatever you want, hug your honey, wash your hands. Repeat as necessary. 

Happy days are here again.

. 

Johnson & Johnson, what have you done?

I trusted my baby's bottom to you. Your lotions and potions soothed them. Can I ever believe in you again? Ever?

Upliv? Upliv!!! A stress relief product? Aromatherapy for the soul? And it all happens on line? 

Really.

Here's the deal. For a mere $566. (an initial upfront and then monthly fees) you can take an online stress test, proceed to get a "how to reduce your stress levels assessment cha cha cha" and then receive…here's the total disconnect…fragrances that "elicit relaxing and refreshing moods." Two bottles of body wash and one bottle each of body lotion and facial wash.

Yeah, that should do it. If you drink it. 

Pretty obvious to me that if you seek privacy while applying said fragrances, the 15 minutes (being generous in how slowly one anoints oneself) you might simply tune out the " I need you, need you, need you" cries, emanating from the other room. And, after you emerge from your revelry, in 15 minutes or less I imagine your stress level is back to it's normal level of intensity and insanity.

For now, while it is in the testing phase, there are on line chat rooms. But, when the product is introduced this on line interaction isn't happening. Duh. I suspect this is to keep women from chatting along the lines of "what was I thinking?" "Am I insane?" "Where is my Xanax prescription?" Which, not incidentally, probably costs less a year than this product.  

That would be for those who are babyboomers. Or are the children of babyboomers. Or simply like alliteration.

These Boomers, you see, are playing video games, having sex and doing drugs. Not necessarily all at the same time.

But all this is qualified, verified and discussed, in great detail, by various and assorted government and research studies. At some point for scientists, I suspect, watching rats must get old.

Some personally significant highlights from Study A suggest that the heretofore Hair, Woodstock, Lucy in the Sky…Make Love Not War, aged folk who were smoking a bit of weed back then are still marijuana devotees. They have the distinction of being 'the group that never stopped, group'. 

Regardless of the dismal results for the decidedly middle aged in the 'meet your honey baby sweetie on line mating dance', studies showed that "individuals with strong, functioning sexual and intimate relationships will have better trajectories of health and well-being than those whose relationships function less well or who lack such relationships." One out of two isn't bad. If you really want to know what age group is doing what, to whom, and how often, read Study B.

Alrighty then, these Boomers are slightly buzzed, and purringly contented. Now what? Want to keep your mind sharp and age more gracefully? Buy yourself a Wii. Any loss of brain cells from the continuation of having a toke or two probably won't be rejuvenated, say these researchers but game playing seems to drive cognitive improvements. 

Is there some irony in the 60's mantra, courtesy of Timothy Leary, "tune in, turn on, drop out" now being relevant for the 60 something year old? Verified by research. Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll.

"Here's something really special, really important, I think you ought to know" she said. "Tell me" he replied, as he leaned far back into his chair, and folded his arms across his chest. 

Right you are. She changed her mind. Crossed her legs, shifted in her chair and asked him what he wanted to order for dinner.

The language of the body, it appears, is almost as important as the words that accompany it. Had he leaned forward, had his eyes widened expectantly, he would have struck the pose she was hoping for. 

Alas, not.

Abstract Thoughts? The Body Takes Them Literally  does not necessarily only relate to the language of love, but to a myriad of other postures indicating what we are thinking, if not outwardly verbalizing.

Want a more weighty, thoughtful answer to a question, have your respondent hold a heavy object. Want to evaluate a reaction to a moral transgression? Is the box of antiseptic wipes within reach? And more importantly, does the transgressor reach for one?

If this subtle body language stuff is really indicative of what you, or the person you are sitting with, is thinking, here are a couple of sure fire tests to determine how you're doing.

The job interview is winding down. "I am looking forward to meeting more of your team" you say. They shift in their chair, imperceptible as it seems, did they shift their body forward, a sure sign of thinking positively about the future, or not? 

Ditto for the blind date maneuver. Ten minutes into the coffee, the universal signal for 'check, please' occurs. Open for interpretation? Only if that gesture was in consort with playing footsie.

I am an unfortunate devotee to all the various and assorted articles I read that promise me a happier, healthier, better life if I follow their sage advice.

I don’t of course.

Sir Clement Freud, a British humorist, restaurateur, gambler said, “if you resolve to give up smoking, drinking and loving, you don’t actually live longer; it just seems longer.” Except, Sir Freud, for the smoking part.

Others, simply see a way to cash in on the life wisdom of others. Robyn Okrant followed the advice of Oprah, the patron saint of living life, for one year. Nothing particularly revolutionary came out of that experiment I understand, not even a visit with Oprah. Okay, maybe one insight. Not everyone can get away with leopard flats. Plus, I am particularly suspect of the motives of people who substitute a y for an i in their names.

So what’s with my subject heading, stand up?

It is for your benefit. Because I care. Because I worry. Because I am demonstrating that I can actually remember what I read.

Here goes. It seems that couch potatoes live shorter lives. Each daily hour of television watching was associated with an 18 percent increase in deaths. Four hours or more and you were 80 percent more likely to die of cardiovascular disease than those who watched two hours or less. With me, still? What I wondered was how do these researchers find the people who are willing to admit to their being slugs. Want to avoid the drastic outcome of this couch potato habit?

Here is the antidote. Watch your programs, but do so while standing up. Have weights in each of your hands, curling, lifting and curling some more, (this they caution is better for you than doing balance and toning exercises)…isn’t lifting weights toning?, anyway…do this for at least 2 hours a week. Your cognition, your ability to make decisions and to resolve conflicts improves.

I suspect the last benefit is because you have weights in your hands.

Alternatively, eat, drink and be merry…as you, no doubt, know the last line of that ditty.

Around 3 weeks of age, give or take, we hear the collective delighted sweet murmuring and cooing sounds of parents, grandparents and the like,  “look, he/she is holding up their perfectly shaped head.” Clearly a genius.

We are aware, aren’t we, that this incantation, keep your head up, continues, well into forever.

This not so dulcet command, “head’s up ladies” was heard as we paraded through the gym, in our decidedly unflattering one piece, belted no less, grayish colored uniform, praying that we wouldn’t have a fire drill that period, which in turn, would require us to be seen by the objects of our adolescent fantasies.

“Heads up”. That cry warning us about the spherical object now careening to earth, which, sadly, might have an unfortunate encounter with our skull.

The universal head tilt in abject adoration at your place of worship. Gazing, adoringly, at the icon of your faith. Chin up, eyes upward, a beatific smile on your face.

Why? Is it really to have better posture, to self protect, for other worldly acknowledgments?

I think not.

Heads up is to make our jaw line look better.

I did a survey.

 But, alas, it is really hard to maintain that position for long periods of time. Isn’t it?  Coupled, I suspect with tripping over objects in our path.

What to do?

Take your clue from the over 50 crowd. They have found the perfect antidote to a sagging jaw, while simultaneously concealing a decidedly bizarre event happening around their necks.

To wit. The perfect jaw line..effected flawlessly.

 The bath. Cleansing, soothing, relaxing, metaphoric.

Metaphoric?

Sure, why not. Renewal, Birth, the Confessional…hmm, okay, maybe not. But somewhere in there is a cliche I haven’t thought of.

Anyway, what I am clear about is that Hollywood hasn’t run out of bathtub scenes for the middle aged woman. That is, excluding Julia Roberts frolicking amidst and among her bubbles with Richard Gere as her audience.

Meryl spends a good deal of time reflecting about her life while having a soak.

Wonder why he’s outside the tub in this one? How would Ms. Meyers dealt with the issue of man boobs?

One of my all time favorite bath scenes had Diane Keaton, smoking a joint while reflecting on the state of her disintegrating marriage in “Shoot the Moon.” That image, alas, is nowhere to be found.

And while it isn’t Meryl, no doubt because by this time she was voicing a real aversion to wrinkling her fingers and toes in yet another bath scene, we have the real deal soaking away with the love of her life.

So then. Here’s the real question.

Have you tried to get out of your tub, gracefully, lately?

I mean really.

Middle aged love, in the tub, candles and champagne, and a sky hook to get you out.

Lovely.

I don't know anyone who believes that.

Nary a soul.

But, yet again, it appears that those that really know about these things are convincing us that we are just fine. Certainly, anyone who has gained 5 lbs in the past fifteen minutes, had the third glass of wine, or polished off the last of yesterday's refrigerated pizza, has mastered the concept of leaving themselves alone. 

Ya' think?

But if the venerated Dr. Susan Love tells me to stop worrying about my health, who am I to argue with that?

Worrying about my health, she suggests, "is a major source of stress and guilt".

So I am not going to stress anymore. Moderation is my new mantra. Warm up the pizza, eat it sitting down, the pizza plated, with the kitchen light on. No guilt attached to that maneuver. See, I feel better already. 

Slept fourteen hours. A sign of depression? Wrong again. "The issue of sleep causes a lot of guilt by women" Dr. Love tells us, " If you are sleepy all the time, you are not getting enough sleep for you." Can you hear the groans of hundreds of pyschotherapists? Stress, guilt and it's evil twin, depression have been, snap, erased from the lexicon.

"If you feel good, then you are fine". Use "common sense" they caution us. But we do know, don't we, that common sense is very uncommon.

I love these studies. 

But you knew that. The latest article that was passed along to me tells me that Exercise Makes You Less Anxious. Yeah, yeah, okay, we all knew that. If you are really needing to know 'how this happens' read the article.

I, for one, am fascinated with the more simplistic questions. The scientists had 2 sets of rats. One half of the rat group were allowed to run, the other group not only didn't run, they did not do any exercise. The experiment continues with having all of the rats swim in cold water, which they don't like to do (the rats not the scientists). 

All I pictured was half of the rats wearing little red bathing caps to differentiate them from the half who were the runners. That, or they let the runners' group keep on their little Nikes. 

I suspect this explains why I wasn't welcomed in the science lab during my school days.

Exercise doesn't reduce stress, I contend, saying you exercise decreases stress. Alternatively, if you have to say you don't exercise your stress level goes up exponentially. Admit it. The tsk tsk, frowns, scowls of contempt are the stress inducers, easier to lie.

Personally, I've yet to meet an on-line hopeful who didn't say that they exercised continually, make that hourly, whether or not they were in shape seemed to be irrelevant. Thinking you wouldn't notice guts, or handle bars therefore, is equally fascinating.

Anyway, if you are a exercise devotee keep it up. Your molecular biological changes, when the autopsy is done, will be there to validate that you were stress free, even if those nearest and dearest to you never knew it.