Who knew? Trans fats, not weed, make you stupid

Today, I have good news and I have better news. The good news? Trans fats make your brain smaller. The better news? Marijuana makes it bigger.

This is good news all the way around, and for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it gives you another good reason to stay away from trans fats, and that’s a plus because trans fats are often found in stuff you don’t want to eat anyway. Secondly, it gives you another good reason to smoke pot, and that’s a plus because … well, because it gives you another good reason to smoke pot.

And not only does marijuana apparently make your brain bigger, it’s also way more fun than trans fats. Don’t take my word for it – compare the dude wearing a Bob Marley t-shirt and driving a bio-diesel VW bus to the guy wearing Sansabelt slacks and eating a bag of Funyuns and see who looks happier. I rest my case.

Seriously, though – the Oregon Brain Aging Study, launched in 1989, followed 104 people ages 65 and older. Researchers checked participants’ blood samples for markers of 30 different nutrients. Participants also did a raft of neuropsychological tests, and 42 had MRI scans of their brains as well.

Researchers were interested in three things: cognitive function, total brain volume and white-matter changes that are thought to be a sign of small vessel disease of the brain.

They found that people who consume lots of trans fats are more likely to experience the kind of brain shrinkage associated with Alzheimer’s disease than people who don’t. They also had poorer memory, shorter attention spans, and were more likely to laugh at Michael Cera movies.

Conversely, people with higher levels of omega three fatty acids were better at planning, problem-solving and multi-tasking. They were also a lot more fun to talk to at parties.

If you fear that your brain has shrunk from trans fat abuse, don’t despair – new research suggests that marijuana may be like pumping iron for your gray matter.

Neuropsychologist Xia Zhang and a team of researchers based at the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon, Canada, wanted to find out just how marijuana-like drugs act on the brain.

The researchers injected rats with HU210. This synthetic drug is about one hundred times as powerful as THC – the stuff in weed that makes you walk through the house five times to make sure the oven is turned off – or about half the strength of what Willie Nelson smokes for breakfast.

To their surprise, they found that HU210 seemed to induce new brain-cell growth. Even more surprising was the discovery that these new cells immediately wanted to go to Taco Bell, but couldn’t find their car keys.

Although his findings point to potential benefits of smoking pot, Zhang says that he does not endorse its use. “Marijuana has been used for medicine and recreation for thousands of years,” he says. “But it can also lead to addiction.”

Even worse, it can make you laugh at Michael Cera movies.

 

Around the world – with Christmas!

Lots of countries celebrate Christmas, but not all of them mark the holiday in the same ways we do. Here are some of the more unusual Christmas customs.

United Kingdom

In England, children write their letters to Father Christmas and then throw them into the fireplace, hoping they will float up the chimney and fly to the North Pole. If the lists catch fire first, they have to rewrite them. It is no surprise that English children lead the world in writer’s cramp.

At Christmas dinner, a plum pudding is served with little treasures hidden inside. These bring their finders good luck, and their finders’ dentists vacation homes in Spain. England also originated the custom of hanging mistletoe, as well as the tradition of stealing a kiss underneath it. Given the state of English dentition, this is the only way many English men would ever get a kiss without paying for it.

In Ireland, it is tradition to leave mince pies and bottles of Guinness as a snack for Santa, which helps explain both Santa’s girth and his red nose. In Northern Ireland, a traditional surprise for Santa is a pipe bomb disguised as a cheese log.

Spain

In Spain, Papa Noel delivers presents by climbing up balconies – or at least that’s what he tells husbands who come home unexpectedly. On Jan. 6, the three wise men come and leave gifts for the children. By waiting for the post-Christmas sales they save a bundle, proving that they are not only wise men, but also smart shoppers.

Ukraine

In the Ukraine, Father Frost visits all the children in a sleigh pulled only by three very tired reindeer. He brings with him a youngster named Snowflake Girl, who wears a fur-trimmed costume and a crown shaped like a snowflake. This speaks volumes about Ukrainian child-labor laws.

Italy

In Italy, on the evening of the day after Christmas, children are visited by a good witch named Strega Buffana, who flies around on a broom leaving treats for good children and coal for naughty children. It is tradition to give a bag of dried lentils to friends to make soup. This bean soup reminds recipients of their humble beginnings, and also helps propel the witch on her journey.

Austria

In Austria, on Dec. 6, Heiliger Nikolaus (St. Nicholas) rewards good children with sweets, nuts and apples. Bad children get a bag of dried lentils.

Lebanon

In Lebanon, families plant seeds of grain in small pots a month before Christmas. When Christmas arrives they have little pots of green to place around the traditional Christmas cave. The Christmas cave houses the Batmobile and … no, wait – that’s another cave. The Christmas cave actually houses a nativity scene.

Australia

In Australia, Santa’s sleigh is pulled by eight white kangaroos. Since it’s summer in the Southern Hemisphere, Christmas dinner is eaten outdoors and is often followed by a visit to the beach and many, many cans of Foster’s lager. Projectile vomiting traditionally takes the place of caroling.

 

Easy tips help you ‘eat smart’ during the holidays

The holiday party season is in full swing, and that means lots of opportunities to really blow all the hard work you’ve put into your diet during the previous 11 months. But if you will follow these tips, you can have fun and still avoid those extra calories.

Drink plenty of water. If you’re going to a party or out to eat, drink a quart of salt water 30 minutes before you leave the house. The water will fill you up, and the sodium content will make you too nauseated to eat. Plus, running to the bathroom every 5 minutes will help burn off some of those unwanted calories.

Portion control. When filling your plate at a party, take it easy on the portions. Here’s a tip: if you tear a rotator cuff while carrying your plate, or your host asks you if you’re collecting food for a homeless shelter, you’ve probably taken too much.

Smoking. Say what you will about the other health issues, but smoking is a great way to get a handle on your appetite. If you’re already a smoker, you know that a well-timed cigarette can really take the edge off your hunger. This will help you say “no” to that second dessert long enough to grab another drink. And honestly, which would you rather have – a second slice of freezer-burned pumpkin pie or another Jager shot? If you’re not a smoker, a cigarette will likely make you so sick that you won’t want to eat. Either way, you’ve avoided several hundred extra calories. Bravo!

If you’re serious about watching your weight this season, don’t constrain your smoking to just cigarettes, either. Crystal meth is a sure-fire appetite suppressant. Additionally, repeated applications make it even easier to say “no” to that tempting toffee. Of course, that’s largely because the “crank” has made your teeth fall out – but, still, it’s hard to argue with success.

A word to the wise: while cigarettes and methamphetamine are sure-fire diet helpers, marijuana is not! In addition to the very real danger of making you think that Jim Carrey’s version of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” is actually funny, smoking “pot” can also make you eat an entire pecan pie and a family size tub of Cool Whip in one sitting. So leave those visions of sugarplums to the kiddies and stay away from the wacky tobacky.

Alcohol: Sure, alcohol itself contains so-called “empty” calories and should otherwise be avoided by those watching their weight, but during this festive season it’s a great substitute for fattening holiday goodies. Drink enough eggnog and eating will be the last thing on your mind. And if you do have a “slip” and accidentally eat solid food, the alcohol will help it come back up quicker than Santa goes up a chimney!

If you stick to these tips, you can avoid packing on extra holiday pounds. Remember – Santa may be a jolly fat man, but he’s also fictional.

 

‘Boomer fashion’ – a contradiction in terms?

For a couple of weeks I have been doing what people have done for years – making fun of the way that people younger than them dress.

What I think I look like in a cap.

This tradition didn’t start with me; for example, when I was a teenager and walking out the door for my first rock concert, my father stopped me because I was not wearing a jacket and tie.  The band I was going to see – the “Jefferson Airplanes,” as he called them – would all be so attired, he assured me.

That was one of the few times he was wrong (his most memorable misstep was declaring the Beatles “a flash in the pan.”) Little did I know that his sartorial critique was a foreshadowing of me in my own dotage.

What I actually look like in a cap.

And while I enjoy making fun of people who are younger than me (partly because it’s easy, but mainly because I am crazy jealous), I realize that my fellow Boomers and I also wear things that are no less a uniform, and no less ridiculous. Also, we’re old, so there’s that.

So, since I’ve been beating up on hipsters two weeks running, here’s a short list of Boomer dude fashion misfires, and I’m guilty of all of them. This is only a partial list, so please let me know what I’ve missed.

Flat caps: What’s with flat caps? All of a sudden, I’m surrounded by Andy Capp clones. I wear one (actually, if I’m honest, I wear one of about 12) because I like hats, but the classic ball cap gives off too much of a Larry the Cable Guy vibe. Of course I think mine makes me look like Samuel L. Jackson; what it really makes me look like is Curly Howard.

T-shirts: Most guys my age should not wear t-shirts, and especially those bearing the logos of bands that were popular 40 years and – more importantly – 40 pounds ago. And those t-shirts that say “Old Guys Rule” – you know how, when you see a woman wearing a t-shirt that says “Sexy,” she invariably is not? That same principle applies here.

Fleece: It’s soft, it’s comfy, and since a lot of it is made from recycled plastic bottles that might otherwise end up in the ocean, it gives us a cozy feeling that’s not related to global warming. The polar bears may be in trouble, but us Boomers are ready in case a camping trip breaks out.

Shoes: OK, I know running shoes are comfy; they’re also practical and affordable. But can’t at least one of us buy a brand other than Asics? It’s like Boomer guys are some Pacific islanders that had a cargo container full of them wash ashore. Seriously, guys – someone needs to branch out before we’re all rockin’ those sensible, Velcro-strapped SAS loafers.

And what’s up with Crocs? If there’s uglier footwear, I have not seen it (although Uggs come close). In my estimation, the only people who should wear Crocs are kids and galley slaves, and the latter should stay in the kitchen where they can’t be seen. I actually have a list of things that, should my wife ever see me wear, she has been instructed to shoot me. On that list, Crocs fall right between white sunglasses and her underwear. Sure, they’re comfy (the Crocs, I mean) but that’s not a good excuse for men to wear them. Bottom line: If you don’t have a finger stuck in a dike, stay away from clogs.

Goatees: We like them because they’re masculine, they make us look vaguely European, but mainly because they hide our wattles. This is extremely important, because we’re at an age when many of us have more chins than a Beijing phone book.

Hey, you kids get off my lawn — and take your panda hats with you!

Last week I wrote a column in which I disparaged the fashion sense of a subspecies of young Austinites commonly referred to as hipsters (Hipsterii ridiculus, for you Linnaean geeks). In it, I proposed a game in which points could be scored by spotting young people sporting specific fashion items.

Animal hat = OK.

Apparently I struck a chord, as a surprising number of people commented on my idea. What was not surprising was that no one who commented was under the age of 30. That’s probably because no one under the age of 30 reads my column, & thats bcz I ddnt txt it 2 thm LOL!

I rag on hipsters for two main reasons: One, they’re young and I’m not, and two, they look stupid. Everyone’s young at least once, but that’s no excuse for dressing like a clown. When I was in my early 20s, I was rockin’ the bell-bottoms, the tie-dye t-shirts, and the love beads. (Come to think of it, all I was missing was a red rubber nose and a pair of big shoes.)

Animal hat = not OK.

But back to the hipster thing. Most of the comments I got were about hipster headgear. My attorney suggested that the venerable fedora be added to the list, and I have to concur. Unless you are Bear Bryant, Frank Sinatra or Lightnin’ Hopkins, you should probably avoid this style.

My Oklahoma cousin, Catfish, suggested I include those Peruvian-style caps with the dangly earflaps, and I could not agree more. He also gave the thumbs-down to tams; again, I concur, and would expand this to include dreadlocks. By my lights, unless you are a Rasta, an orthodox Jew or possibly Boy George, locks are a very bad idea indeed.

Another fashion I would add is knit caps that look like animals. Here’s a hint: If you’re not being breastfed, you’re too old to be wearing a cap that makes your head look like it’s being eaten by a panda.

A trend I did not touch on was fucked-up footwear. Last summer I ran over a pair of old sneakers with my lawn mower and they got pretty chewed up. I threw them away, but I bet I could have sold them to a shop catering to hipsters. No kidding – there’s a very popular shoe brand called Tom’s that, brand new and straight from the store, look like the sneakers I tossed. And another tip for the guys: if you’re not Pablo Picasso, leave the espadrilles in your girlfriend’s closet.

Hipsters are also fond of giant headphones. That’s cool with me, since it keeps me from having to listen to Vampire Weekend (again). But get around a group of hipsters and it’s like you’ve stumbled into an air-traffic controller convention, or maybe a tank-gunners’ reunion. My suggestion? Unless you’re a DJ, stick with the earbuds.

When it comes to deep-V t-shirts, all I can say is, thanks, guys; that’s just what I wanted – a better look at your bony chest and/or Sailor Jerry tatts. And ladies, speaking of ill-considered ink, that Day of the Dead chest piece that looks so bad-ass today is going to look sad in a few years when it joins your breasts in their inexorable migration southward. I predict that by the time you’re 30 it’s going to look less like a calavera and more like a “Friday the 13th” mask.

Wanna play a game? ‘I Spy’ rebooted for the age of irony

On Sunday, Liz and I spent the afternoon at the East Austin Studio Tour. Austin’s East Side – which has long been largely black and Latino — has been undergoing gentrification for more than a decade, so these days it’s pretty white. But toss in a few hundred art openings and free Pabst Blue Ribbon, and presto – Hipster Central. Seriously – you couldn’t drive half a block without running over an under-employed barista (well, I suppose you could – if you really tried, but …)

See this dog? He's worth 50 points all by himself.

We were only there for a couple of hours, but that was plenty long enough for the irony fumes to go to my head and make me dream up a cool new game. It’s kind of like “I Spy,” that game you used to play on road trips as a kid. I’m going to call it “Spot the Hipster.”

Here’s a scoring guide (and please keep in mind this is just a rough start; if you have ideas for improvements, I’m all ears). Ready to start spotting? Here we go:

Hipsters on wheels

Hipsters on single-speed fixed-gear bikes are about as common as tie-dyed t-shirts on old hippies in Austin, so no points for spotting just one. For points here you’re going to have to go for fixies en masse.

Two points will be awarded for each hipster in a group of three or more. Additional points will be awarded for additional hipsters. Scores may also be increased if the hipsters are going the wrong way on a one-way street. Maximum score is for spotting a whole herd going the wrong way on a one-way street and flipping off motorists.

All scores are doubled if your targets are talking on their cell phones, and tripled if they’re texting.

Hipster Dogs

One point shall be awarded for each dog spotted (but not necessarily for spotted dogs). Extra points if it’s a weird and/or ugly breed, or if the dog is larger than a sixth grader. Double points if the dog is riding in a baby trailer, and triple points if the trailer is being towed behind a Dutch cargo bike. Quadruple points for a dog riding in a sidecar on a vintage BMW with European plates.

Hipster Clothing

• Plaid Western. If it’s one size too small, add one point. If it’s two sizes two small, add two points. Women with large breasts earn you double points. If you spot a man with large breasts, he’s probably Leslie. No points, but you can buy him a drink.
• T-shirts. Two points if it bears the image of an obscure Japanese cartoon character, or three if it’s a tour t-shirt from a band that the wearer’s parents probably listened to while they smoked pot in college.
• Work shirts. Work shirts with a name embroidered on the pocket are worth two points, but only if they are from a business in which a true hipster would never deign to toil, like a muffler repair place or a machine shop.
• Jeans. Calf-length skin-tight jeans are worth two points; points are doubled if they are on a guy. Points are tripled if the right leg is rolled up a la bike messenger.
• Cold-weather gear. Add two points if you spot someone wearing either a scarf or wool cap – especially here in Austin, where it’s actually cold enough for them for about 45 minutes a year, and usually in February or in a movie theater.

Stodden to God: Thanks for the mammaries

Well, I don’t know about you but I am hugely relieved. First, Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore split up, and then Kim Kardashian and her husband of 72 days divorce. In the face of heartbreak like this, I take my consolation – no matter how meager – where I can get it.

So today I rest easier knowing that Courtney Stodden’s breasts are real.

Nice work, God.

If you don’t know who she is – perhaps because you’ve been focused on bigger problems, like global warming or the state of the world economy or updating your Netflix queue – let me get you up to speed. Courtney Stodden, who is barely old enough to drive in most states, raised eyebrows when she married 51-year-old actor (and by “actor” I mean “pedophile”) Doug Hutchins. You know him? Yeah – me neither. Apparently, he’s an actor who has acted in some actor-y things. Maybe with Kim Kardashian’s ex – who knows?

She was 16 when they got hitched but somehow got around the law barring this sort of thing because the blushing bride (actually, I’ve seen pictures and I don’t think there’s much that would make her blush) had a note from her mother.

Speaking of dear old mom, Stodden’s mother was quoted as saying, “Courtney looks the most beautiful when she steps out of the shower soaking wet.” OK, marrying a dude who is literally old enough to be your dad is plenty creepy, but having your mom telling the world how hot you are post-shower? That’s just gross.

She’s been modeling since she was 12, and at 15 represented her hometown, Ocean Shores, in the Miss Washington USA Pageant. Her platform was “Skin Cancer Awareness Amongst Teens.” A curious platform, since a main cancer-prevention tip is to keep covered up. But judging by the pix I’ve seen, you’d think she’s trying for melanoma. Seriously – she could be using depleted uranium as lipstick and be safer.

She’s had to fend off reports that her looks have been surgically enhanced, but she claims, “I was born this way out of the womb.” This must have been a hell of a shock for the doctor. I mean, Athena supposedly sprang full-grown from Zeus’ forehead, and the Buddha is reported to have come from his mother’s side and taken seven steps in each of the four directions. But this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a woman giving birth to a pole dancer.

Anyway, she agreed to have ultrasound to prove that her assets are her own and not aftermarket add-ons. And, this being America, she did so on TV. She and her dad – I mean, her husband – went on Dr. Drew’s Lifechangers, where plastic surgeon Dr. John “For This I Went to Med School?” Diaz performed the procedure.

And the verdict? The doc says they’re real, and he should know. As a plastic surgeon he’s dealt with a lot of fake boobs. And speaking of fake boobs, Stodden and her husband hope to star in their own reality TV show.

Might be time to sell the TV.

Forget Boss Day – call me when it’s Employee Day

If you’re like me, you’re pretty excited, and probably gearing up for National Boss Day Oct 16. Even though I pretty much stopped listening to him after “Born In the USA,” I still think it’s pretty awesome that Bruce gets his own freakin’ day.

Of course, I kid. National Boss Day is not about Bruce Springsteen at all (unless you’re Steven Van Zandt). It’s a day when we smile, suck up to our boss, and pretend we’re not praying he’ll get hit by a bus. In other words, it’s just like any other weekday, only we have to buy a card.

Of all the bogus holidays, Boss Day has to be one of the worst. Mother’s Day is the best – who doesn’t love their mother (Francis Bean Cobain gets a pass here, and for good reason). Same for Father’s Day and Oedipus.

But Boss Day? Come on – isn’t that a bit like having God Day? Isn’t being a boss good enough? Do you really need your minions sucking up to you to make you feel good about yourself? I guess that one answered itself, huh?

Seriously – Boss Day is a scam. It’s not enough that your boss controls 40 hours of your life a week; now you have to take him to lunch to thank him for not sucking any more than he already does.

Actually, your boss controls more than just 40 hours of your week; that 40 just covers the hours your ass is actually in your chair; how about all the other non-office hours that are effectively controlled by your boss?

Since you have to be more or less coherent at work (unless you’re a Congressman, I mean) you have to get a reasonable amount of sleep. And since most parties don’t really start to rock until very late, your boss is effectively setting your curfew.

Also, think of the time you spend going to the dry cleaner – that’s a chore you wouldn’t do every week if not for your boss. (Full disclosure: this really does not apply to me. I just have to find a clean pair of jeans and decide which t-shirt I want to wear. Grateful Dead? Ramones? Or maybe basic black?)

Also, since many employers frown on you being drunk on the clock, your boss pretty much controls your breakfast and your commute.

Ever wonder where this crap holiday comes from? Well, it began in 1958 with a secretary named Patricia Haroski. It took some time to catch on – Hallmark didn’t start offering a Boss Day card until 1979. I bet if they had offered a Boss Day letter bomb instead of a card back in ‘58, those bad boys would have sold like hotcakes.

But maybe I complain too much. It’s pretty harsh to bad-mouth a boss who comes around several times a day to check on your well-being. Or who frequently offers to take you to dinner and a movie. And then, if it gets too late to drive home safely, who offers to let you sleep over at his place. While this has never actually happened to me, it happens to my sister almost weekly.

Banning public nudity is oppression – and that’s a good thing

I just got back home to Austin – a city that likes to “keep it weird” – after a few days in Portland, Oregon – a city that does likewise. But I don’t know that either of them can really be called weird. Quirky? Sure. Charming? No doubt. But when it comes to keepin’ it weird, they can’t hold a candle to that City by the Bay.

If you know anything about San Francisco, it won’t surprise you to learn that there is no law in that fair city against being naked in public. And if you know anything about people, it will not surprise you to learn that there are folks there who – for good or for ill – like to exercise that right.

That could change if a law proposed by city supervisor Scott Weiner (sorry ‘bout that name, Scott) is approved. Weiner’s proposal would prohibit nudity in restaurants, and would also require the clothing-challenged to put down a towel or something similar before plopping bare-assed on benches or any other public seats.

Again, if you know anything about San Francisco, you know where this is headed – a protest. In this case, a “nude-in” to draw attention to the law. Last week a small group of people got together in a city park to express their disapproval of the proposed law.

George Davis, a 65-year-old self-described “urban nudist” said the legislation was a waste of time, claiming that putting down something to sit on was “basic nudist etiquette.”

In Austin, not only would it be the polite thing to do, it would also be the smart thing to do. As I said, Babylon-on-the-Colorado is a bit quirky, especially compared to the rest of the Lone Star State. For instance, in Austin it’s legal for women to go topless anywhere a man can do likewise. That can make a swim at Barton Springs Pool – where the water is always a brisk 68 degrees – especially invigorating. Similarly, Hippie Hollow at Lake Travis is clothing optional. Note to self: Don’t forget the sunscreen.

But for most of the year, it’s too hot to sit down outside – even for the fully clothed. And forget the towel nonsense; a Nomex fire suit like racecar drivers wear won’t keep you from toasting your buns. Seriously, if you were to put your bare bodkin on anything flat – park bench, bus stop or car hood – you’d have a hell of a time explaining to your HMO why you were hospitalized with third-degree ass blisters the size of dinner plates.

The no-nudity-in-restaurants part, I have no problem with – especially since obesity is at epidemic levels in this country. (On the other hand, that would be a sure-fire appetite suppresant.) Also, Austin is the kind of town where, if you’re allowed to do it, someone’s gonna do it – and the last thing I want to see when I’m scarfing down a hot link is a naked dude.

Myself, I’m not going naked outdoors, legal or not. In fact, one of my greatest fears is stepping out to get the paper off the stoop and having the door lock behind me, leaving me stranded and starkers.

I’m also not real crazy about the idea of most other people running around au naturel; it’s long been my contention most people who would get naked in public shouldn’t get naked – in public or otherwise.

Looking for investment opportunities? Here’s something that’s bound to boom

Want to get in on the ground floor of an investment opportunity that I predict is going to – excuse the expression – boom? Then put your money on Baby Boomers and their (our) denial about the fact that we’re getting old.

Look around. We have millions of people killing each other in the name of one imaginary friend or another. We’re using up too many resources, and the resultant pollution threatens to bury us in our own junk. And now we find out that Rick Perry is running for president.

Seriously – the world is going to hell, but this year my Boomer cohort – 70 million strong – will spend an ass-load of our own money to fight a truly pressing problem: looking the age we actually are.

But that’s now how my generation rolls. We’ve never been content to sit back and just let things happen (unless we’d just scored some primo black Nepalese, in which case sitting back and just letting things happen was all we were capable of).

Nope – we Boomers are do-ers. Remember the anti-Vietnam demonstrators, who brought attention to an unjust war? Remember the “Freedom Riders” of the civil rights movement, who helped an oppressed minority gain their birthright? Remember the hippies who tore down the fences at Woodstock –  effectively screwing the promoters, who were fellow Boomers?

OK, so two out of three.

But back to my point: Why should a generation that refuses to act its age be burdened with looking its age? Especially when that look is … well, you fellow Boomers know what I mean. Those of you who don’t, just google “Rod+Stewart+Speedo.”

So, in an attempt to maintain our youthful good looks, Baby boomers will spend $80 billion this year on surgery, dietary supplements, and clothing that looks awful even on people who actually are young.

That’s right — $80 billion. And that number is supposed to grow to $114 billion by 2015. Sure, it pales compared to the U.S. defense budget, or Kim Kardashian’s recent wedding, but by any normal standard, that’s a lot of coin.

The anti-aging crowd says that our lives can be prolonged through things like hormone replacement therapy and dietary supplements. And while it might not actually prolong it, life can be made to seem longer (much longer, in fact) by listening to health guru Deepak Chopra’s books on tape – especially the ones about aging well.

The message you hear over and over is that the key to being well and looking your best (if you can’t look young, you can at least shoot for not frightening) is very simple: maintain a healthy diet, exercise regularly, and don’t smoke.

I would add to that, try to stay out of the sun; not only will it age you, it also shows how old you really look. Myself, I prefer candlelight – unless, of course, the candles are on a birthday cake.