Freeze Yourself into Shape

I was reading the other day that people are reshaping their bodies with more than just liposuction. Which is good I guess, because if you ever read Kathy Griffin’s book and saw her lipo photos, you wouldn’t even cross the threshold of a plastic surgeon’s office.

So many people want to melt their pounds away through surgery. There is non-invasive ultrasound technology being used, although its only available in Europe and Canada right now. In lieu of lasers, a new technique called ZELTIQ is quickly becoming the new way to “contour fat” in the U.S.

And when I saw the word ZELTIQ, I immediately thought:

Remember Zoltar, that fortune teller in the movie BIG?

Well, ZELTIQ isn’t ZOLTAR, but supposedly it freezes your fat cells away. Essentially, you put your body parts into a deep chill, and a machine flash freezes your fat cells. The resulting damage causes the fat cells to die off; leaving you sans love handles after all the dead cells flush themselves out of your body.

As someone who had never had a scrap of work done other than highlighting my hair, I am always curious about why people want to do things like that to themselves? I can’t picture myself lying on a table like a pile of Birds Eye vegetables awaiting their frozen fate.

But I will feed a few quarters into Zoltar and ask him the magic question. How long will it take to lose these 10 damn pounds?

I think I’ll just keep exercising and take a pass on freezing my thighs!


In the Kitchen

Sister Mercy, who knew having a refrigerator delivered was a day long project? Last Friday, the nice delivery people had their computer call and say “be ready as early as 7 am to receive your appliance”. Getting up in the dark was not pleasant or fun, but the resulting alignment in my kitchen several hours later was so worth it!

Although I did leave a carefully packaged box of cheese in the old fridge, thinking I would smartly pull it out upon arrival of the new one. Alas, my goat cheese and the gouda with walnuts met a tragic fate somewhere.

What better thing to do than restock that cheese and cook some fabulous things in your gleaming kitchen?

Asparagus and goat cheese in an omelet? Spring demands it! I am positive my Wii Fit Mii will be on my case later today.

Why not add some carbohydrates to the mix?

Like I really needed Rosemary Parmesan Bread, but hey here’s the recipe so we can all add a little something to our hips!

2 packets of dry yeast
2 cups very warm water
2 tbsp butter
2 tbsp sugar
2 tbsp salt
1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese
2 tbsp fresh chopped rosemary
4 1/4 cups flour
Olive Oil

In a large bowl, add yeast to warm water and mix to dissolve. Separately melt butter and blend with sugar and salt. Add butter to the yeast mixture, and then add the rosemary and cheese, whisking to get the lumps out. Add 3 cups of the flour and mix well by hand until smooth, and then add the remaining flour, creating a sticky ball.

Cover and let rise under a dishtowel for 40 minutes. When the dough has risen, punch down in bowl to release the air.

Coat a deep round casserole dish with olive oil, and drop the dough into the bottom, ensuring it’s evenly seated. Drizzle some more olive oil on the top, and sprinkle with some extra cheese and sea salt. Bake at 380 degree for 50 minutes. Cool on a rack before removing from the casserole.

And then totally dig in!


I Can’t Help Myself Friday. The State of the Nation.

Let’s take a spin through some of the headlines this week, shall we?

No doubt, the best headline of the week.

Jimmy Fallon proves that even Schoolhouse Rock takes on a cynical tone when trying to pass a bill. Can you blame the cartoon bill for dropping some f-bombs?

I think that sums it up accurately.

Lastly:

After watching Washington assemble all those packages and reluctantly pass bills, it’s time for a good stiff drink. Where better place to do that than the very breadbasket of our nation, the Midwest. According to Floating Sheep, a quirky and fun geography site, bars remarkably outnumber supermarkets in the mid-section of our country.

“Starting in Illinois, the beer belly expands up into Wisconsin and first spreads westward through Iowa/Minnesota and then engulfs Nebraska, and the Dakotas before petering out (like a pair of love handles) in Wyoming and Montana.”

Forget all your troubles and head to Chicago, stat!

Have a great weekend!


Bless Me Father…

for I have sinned. It has been TOO LONG since my last confession.

A recent article in the Boston Globe says the Archdiocese of Boston is trying to lure people back to the confessional. Supposedly a full 75% of Catholics don’t participate in confession, because their Saturdays are tied up, and they feel they already can talk “directly to God”.

I can understand why people let this sacrament fall by the wayside. My first experience with confession was at 7 years old, and the drunken old priest yelled at me in the confessional because it had been longer than two weeks since my last confession. No wonder I’ve had lifelong trepidation about going into a dark box and talking to a mysterious voice.

At least once a month, the neighborhood mothers would send their entire pod of wayward Catholic children off to confession, whereupon we would studiously rehearse what we would tell the priest. We especially brainstormed on the number of weeks it had been, and thought, BINGO! The phrase too long works perfectly! No extra penance because the priest is too busy to notice! We are brilliant!

We also rehearsed the our moral wrongdoings, ran the numbers like blackjack dealers, and made sure we all had a different set of “sins”. Truth be told, we truly struggled to come up with actual sins. Maybe we didn’t make our bed that day or were mean to our best friend? Did that really require having the CRAP scared out of us in the confessional?

I think I’ve solved the modern day problem of attending confession.

That’s right, we should try social networking! All priests and laypeople need to sign up for Twitter and Facebook! Since so many people find their release on these applications, why not extend that to religion?

We can Twitter in our confessions and do penance on the spot. We can friend our priest and nuns on Facebook and maybe tag them in a photo!

And what if we got this message on Facebook one day:

I think I’ll just pray that God and I have at least five mutual friends in common.


Overheard and Enjoyed

Yesterday we went to the Bruins/Rangers hockey game at the GAHHHDEN. Although the Bruins have been atrocious this second half of the season, they seem to pick it up when they play New York. (Yes, the city of Boston has a serious inferiority complex when it comes to New York sports teams. We need to get over that.)

So we walk into the game a wee bit late, and there’s already a fight busting out. Which I have to admit, I love, because HELLO, old time hockey equals:

And then the little kid in back of us says “Dad, this game is getting off to a good violent start“. YIKES! OK, maybe I shouldn’t like those fights so much….

Although we had really good seats, the geniuses in back of us decided they were going to steal some better seats. It’s always interesting to hear the plot line and strategy behind such a move. Alas, there was no really smart and clever plan, but it was sure hilarious to listen to their stream of consciousness.

In between periods, we were in line to purchase some Bloody Mary’s (mandatory for a matinee game) and we were in back of a trio of Snookies. Although I have never had the pleasure of watching the Jersey Shore, I have seen photos of the phenomenon called Snookie, and her hair style was out in full force yesterday:

If you are forty-something, do not go for this look. Really, even if you are twenty-something don’t do it. And especially don’t wear sandals and a tank top to a hockey arena. It might be spring outside, but it’s still COLD in the building, because they are skating on a frozen surface called ICE, ladies.

Well, enough on that, the game was action packed and the Bruins gave their fans their money’s worth with a well deserved win.

After the game we took a stroll through the garlic scented North End of town, and hit our favorite Italian restaurant, Mother Anna’s. We were joined by a rollicking group of New York Rangers fans who had come up to Boston for the weekend. They proceeded to order a gargantuan amount of food and were perusing the wine list and wondering whether to order a bottle of their favorite wine, PIE-NOT NEW-ARE, which would be Pinot Noir to the rest of us. I didn’t expect a floor show with dinner, but it was pretty entertaining, and we left the restaurant with doggie bags and a smile on our faces.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the OTHER hockey event of the weekend, which was the Lobster Pot Tournament my nephew little Matt played in.

He tried really hard to score a goal for his Auntie Meg, but it was not meant to be that day. He did achieve success the following day, and was a happy little camper that he hadn’t let his family down. That kid might play some old time hockey himself one day. And his aunt will be the one with her walker waving in the air and cheering him on.


I Can’t Help Myself Friday. The Style Edition.

Let’s chat about style this week, shall we? Or perhaps the LACK of it. Trust me, this won’t take long.

I know this Mackenzie Phillips has been through the wringer, but what was she thinking? Can she move her scary face? This is a textbook case for staying true to your natural self, not your plastic self.

Jesse James. What the hell? If I hadn’t actually heard you issued an apology to the entire planet, I would have thought this whole cheating on Sandra Bullock thing was some tabloid rumor. Pack your bags and immediately tattoo a big L on your forehead for LOSER. Fun fact: This was the only photo I could find that was “postable”. That should tell us a little something.

Even Dora the Explorer has taken a hit this week:

Have a great weekend, stylish readers!