When I saw a headline on the cover of a women's magazine that read "20 MINUTES TO SLIM" in bold letters, I wondered who do they think is reading this stuff.
No, it wasn't The National Inquirer; it was your mother's women's magazine and your mother's mother's women's magazine.
No one in their right mind believes in miracle diets anymore, let alone slim in 20 minutes. Get out of here.
I'll admit that in the past I've been a sucker for such sensationalism. I couldn't resist the urge to find this silver bullet, a fountain of youth, the cure-all, so I could either laugh at this ridiculousness or cry with joy.
I studiously turned to the Table of Contents, madly searching for "20 MINUTES TO SLIM."
After flipping back and forth between the "Live Well," "Style," "Solutions," "Eat Well" and "In Every Issue" sections, I finally found the article under "Health." Well, of course.
No wonder I had trouble seeing it, since they changed up the wording to "Get Fit...20 minutes to SLIM - the quick workout that burns up to 250 calories" on page 80. Workout? Who said anything about working out?
I was hoping that I had already worked them off my 250 calories by the time I reached page 80.
It seems that most of us, especially women, have dieted our entire lives. I probably burn several thousand calories a day and hardly shed a pound.
Though, I admit my serious doubt didn't keep me from reading the article. And then I uncovered the truth beneath the untruth: "20 MINUTES TO SLIM" doesn't exist.
What does exist is a fat-burning, butt busting routine requiring 10 moves of two minutes each.
And, that's not all. Can you believe it? You have to do this workout three days a week for three weeks, which means you may "feel" slimmer, but you're actually not.
Every since I was 13 and that darn TV commercial promised that Noxema would miraculously erase zits, I've had a love-hate relationship with the media.
Why can't I be slim in 20 minutes, like the headline says, only with my feet propped up, staring at the tube with a jumbo box of my favorite truffles and an 84 ounce Mountain Dew to top it off. Yeah, I think I could do that.
No one in their right mind believes in miracle diets anymore, let alone slim in 20 minutes. Are you kidding me?
2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon
is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won
first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and
Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota
Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took first-place awards
statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at
www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.comand find her on Facebook.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
When thongs were flip-flops and other mysteries.…
Rarely before has a cultural divide been so wide, separating generations, as in our time.
Consider this - most students who entered college for the first time this fall were born in 1992.
According to the Beloit College Mindset List, they have never seen a carousel of Kodachrome slides. They know Clint Eastwood as a movie producer, not as Dirty Harry.
They think email is too slow and hardly ever use the U.S. Postal Service. They know Beethoven as a dog and Michelangelo as a computer virus.
Young people today don’t worry about a Russian missile striking the U.S. They don’t really understand why we had air raid shelters.
On the other hand, those of us who are 50-something contribute to this cultural divide without even realizing it. For example, you reveal your age if…
…You have the urge to lick postage stamps.
…You don’t text and you don’t want to learn how to text.
…You forward junk mail to all of your email contacts.
…You don’t own a computer.
…You don’t own more than one computer.
…You know what a rotary phone is and how to use it.
…You have a rotary phone and plan to keep it.
…You don’t know what skype is and really don’t care.
…You think blue ray is a tropical fish.
…You cannot figure out why so many people are tweeting.
…You don’t believe in cell phones, even though there is evidence they exist all around you.
…You own a cell phone but don’t know how to make calls or retrieve messages.
…You think marriage should last a lifetime
…You have the urge to hang laundry on a line.
…You bake from scratch.
…You have a checking account.
…You go to the bank, not on line, to do your banking.
…You still go to the cinema, not the Internet, to watch movies.
…You do not have a Facebook account.
…You do have a Facebook account but don’t know how to post photos on it.
…You don’t have a blog and don’t plan to have a blog.
…Your husband still pumps your gas and washes your windshield.
…You remember when gas station attendants pumped your gas and washed your windshield.
…You remember when gasoline was 20 cents a gallon or less.
…You still use the expression “save it for a rainy day.”
…You get excited when you find loose change on the ground.
...You pick up loose change when you find it on the ground.
…You are more comfortable putting your hand out to greet people than giving them a high five.
…You carry cash.
…You cook most of your meals at home and rarely eat out.
…When you do eat out, you get a doggy bag for what you cannot finish.
…You put leftovers in a stew for tomorrow, instead of pitching them.
…You reuse plastic containers.
…You understand the expression “to put up vegetables or fruits.”
…You know how to can tomatoes and cucumbers and relish the thought of putting up dozens of jars every fall.
…When you were a kid, thongs were flip-flops you wore on your feet, not underwear.
…You read the newspaper by holding it in your hands, not by clicking a mouse.
2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon
is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won
first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and
Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota
Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took first-place awards
statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at
www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.comand find her on Facebook.
Consider this - most students who entered college for the first time this fall were born in 1992.
According to the Beloit College Mindset List, they have never seen a carousel of Kodachrome slides. They know Clint Eastwood as a movie producer, not as Dirty Harry.
They think email is too slow and hardly ever use the U.S. Postal Service. They know Beethoven as a dog and Michelangelo as a computer virus.
Young people today don’t worry about a Russian missile striking the U.S. They don’t really understand why we had air raid shelters.
On the other hand, those of us who are 50-something contribute to this cultural divide without even realizing it. For example, you reveal your age if…
…You have the urge to lick postage stamps.
…You don’t text and you don’t want to learn how to text.
…You forward junk mail to all of your email contacts.
…You don’t own a computer.
…You don’t own more than one computer.
…You know what a rotary phone is and how to use it.
…You have a rotary phone and plan to keep it.
…You don’t know what skype is and really don’t care.
…You think blue ray is a tropical fish.
…You cannot figure out why so many people are tweeting.
…You don’t believe in cell phones, even though there is evidence they exist all around you.
…You own a cell phone but don’t know how to make calls or retrieve messages.
…You think marriage should last a lifetime
…You have the urge to hang laundry on a line.
…You bake from scratch.
…You have a checking account.
…You go to the bank, not on line, to do your banking.
…You still go to the cinema, not the Internet, to watch movies.
…You do not have a Facebook account.
…You do have a Facebook account but don’t know how to post photos on it.
…You don’t have a blog and don’t plan to have a blog.
…Your husband still pumps your gas and washes your windshield.
…You remember when gas station attendants pumped your gas and washed your windshield.
…You remember when gasoline was 20 cents a gallon or less.
…You still use the expression “save it for a rainy day.”
…You get excited when you find loose change on the ground.
...You pick up loose change when you find it on the ground.
…You are more comfortable putting your hand out to greet people than giving them a high five.
…You carry cash.
…You cook most of your meals at home and rarely eat out.
…When you do eat out, you get a doggy bag for what you cannot finish.
…You put leftovers in a stew for tomorrow, instead of pitching them.
…You reuse plastic containers.
…You understand the expression “to put up vegetables or fruits.”
…You know how to can tomatoes and cucumbers and relish the thought of putting up dozens of jars every fall.
…When you were a kid, thongs were flip-flops you wore on your feet, not underwear.
…You read the newspaper by holding it in your hands, not by clicking a mouse.
2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon
is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won
first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and
Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota
Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took first-place awards
statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at
www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.comand find her on Facebook.
Being a non-elkaholic in an elkaholic world
When I saw a bumper sticker that said, "Elkaholic – bow hunting elk will be the hardest thing you'll ever love to do," I started to twitch.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not against hunting all together.
For whatever reason, I have difficulty killing anything. I struggle taking down spider webs because I know that without them spiders would starve to death.
I cup my hands around a wayward moth and carefully escort it out the door.
I cringe whenever I swat a fly. So you can see why the notion of hunting really does get to me.
It’s bad enough knowing that there are actually “seasons” for hunting established by the DNR, let alone actually hearing and seeing hunters in action, such as the distant sound of buckshot and hunters wandering corn fields or crouched in their deer blinds.
I’ve heard both sides of the argument as to what to do with the overpopulation of deer. As you may have figured, I side with those who want to put out hay and corn.
Seeing that “elkaholic” bumper sticker put me on edge. I just can’t stand the thought of sharp carbon arrows or cast lead bullets striking through the heart or piercing the guts of unsuspecting animals as rare elk are.
Behold the elk, cervus elaphus, or wapiti, as native tribes call them. These majestic and husky members of the deer family once populated most of North America.
Now, a resurgence of small herds live in remote mountainous regions in the Western U.S., primarily Wyoming, Colorado and South Dakota.
Some years ago, when my husband and I were visiting Banff, Alberta, Canada, elk roamed freely throughout the town.
Co-mingling with residents and tourists alike, they wondered about at will. Traffic halted while entire families trotted in single file across side streets, highways and byways.
The elk controversy in Banff – to love them or to kill them – was all over the news as the town wrestled with this divisive issue.
Wanting to understand why bow hunting elk is the “hardest thing you’ll ever love,” I mustered up enough courage to actually watch an elk hunting video on the web.
In the video, a brawny bull elk peacefully grazes with his herd in a wide-open pasture. Singled out by the hunter-narrator because of his mighty rack and with no cover to hide the hunter scopes and kills him.
As I watched the herd scatter and the tall brawny wapiti go down, I wondered how the hunter was going to sleep that night. Probably very well.
I know we won’t always see eye-to-eye on this subject. After all, this is the land of the free where opinions are not legislated.
This also gives me the freedom to create my own bumper sticker that reads, “non-elkaholic – killing elk is the hardest thing you’ll never want to do.”
2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon
is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won
first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and
Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota
Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took first-place awards
statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at
www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.comand find her on Facebook.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not against hunting all together.
For whatever reason, I have difficulty killing anything. I struggle taking down spider webs because I know that without them spiders would starve to death.
I cup my hands around a wayward moth and carefully escort it out the door.
I cringe whenever I swat a fly. So you can see why the notion of hunting really does get to me.
It’s bad enough knowing that there are actually “seasons” for hunting established by the DNR, let alone actually hearing and seeing hunters in action, such as the distant sound of buckshot and hunters wandering corn fields or crouched in their deer blinds.
I’ve heard both sides of the argument as to what to do with the overpopulation of deer. As you may have figured, I side with those who want to put out hay and corn.
Seeing that “elkaholic” bumper sticker put me on edge. I just can’t stand the thought of sharp carbon arrows or cast lead bullets striking through the heart or piercing the guts of unsuspecting animals as rare elk are.
Behold the elk, cervus elaphus, or wapiti, as native tribes call them. These majestic and husky members of the deer family once populated most of North America.
Now, a resurgence of small herds live in remote mountainous regions in the Western U.S., primarily Wyoming, Colorado and South Dakota.
Some years ago, when my husband and I were visiting Banff, Alberta, Canada, elk roamed freely throughout the town.
Co-mingling with residents and tourists alike, they wondered about at will. Traffic halted while entire families trotted in single file across side streets, highways and byways.
The elk controversy in Banff – to love them or to kill them – was all over the news as the town wrestled with this divisive issue.
Wanting to understand why bow hunting elk is the “hardest thing you’ll ever love,” I mustered up enough courage to actually watch an elk hunting video on the web.
In the video, a brawny bull elk peacefully grazes with his herd in a wide-open pasture. Singled out by the hunter-narrator because of his mighty rack and with no cover to hide the hunter scopes and kills him.
As I watched the herd scatter and the tall brawny wapiti go down, I wondered how the hunter was going to sleep that night. Probably very well.
I know we won’t always see eye-to-eye on this subject. After all, this is the land of the free where opinions are not legislated.
This also gives me the freedom to create my own bumper sticker that reads, “non-elkaholic – killing elk is the hardest thing you’ll never want to do.”
2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon
is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won
first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and
Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota
Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took first-place awards
statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at
www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.comand find her on Facebook.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
The acorn: act of faith, gift of fall
"Faith sees a beautiful blossom in a bulb, a lovely garden in a seed and a giant oak in an acorn." Willam Ward Arthur
Everywhere this time of year where cathedrals of mighty oaks tower high above, acorns tumble down, as they carry out this most ancient of natural rituals.
As summer fades to fall, my allegiance quickly turns from helicopter seedlings to acorns, autumn's gift from heaven.
Valued for their fun-factor, acorns were one of my many organic toys as a child. Whiling away the days until the first freeze, I'd skip rocks across a placid lake, flatten colorful maple leaves between layers of wax paper, poke knots from weathered fence posts and collect acorns.
On the way to and from school, I'd genuflect under massive oak canopies, scoop them from the ground and fill my pockets to overflowing.
Jostling handfuls, clutching one after the other, round and round in a click-clack sound frenzy, I imagined them as quaint little people - miniature men, women and children. And later, executing my mission, I would modestly etch faces: eyes, noses and cheeky smiles.
Like a blue jay or a squirrel, I scatter-hoarded my acorns in little caches and substantial piles, here and there, reserving them as treasures for a rainy day.
This time of year when I happen upon an oak, I continue my autumn tradition and stoop low to gather a handful or two.
I ponder how much of nature is so terribly fragile, brittle and singular in dimension and consistency, but not acorns. Quite substantial in their makeup, their tough little shells and baret-like caps distinguish them with a bold sophistication
Above all, I believe it is perhaps the power and promise represented in one virile little acorn that endears me so, as in this quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
"The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn."
2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took first-place awards statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.comand find her on Facebook.
Everywhere this time of year where cathedrals of mighty oaks tower high above, acorns tumble down, as they carry out this most ancient of natural rituals.
As summer fades to fall, my allegiance quickly turns from helicopter seedlings to acorns, autumn's gift from heaven.
Valued for their fun-factor, acorns were one of my many organic toys as a child. Whiling away the days until the first freeze, I'd skip rocks across a placid lake, flatten colorful maple leaves between layers of wax paper, poke knots from weathered fence posts and collect acorns.
On the way to and from school, I'd genuflect under massive oak canopies, scoop them from the ground and fill my pockets to overflowing.
Jostling handfuls, clutching one after the other, round and round in a click-clack sound frenzy, I imagined them as quaint little people - miniature men, women and children. And later, executing my mission, I would modestly etch faces: eyes, noses and cheeky smiles.
Like a blue jay or a squirrel, I scatter-hoarded my acorns in little caches and substantial piles, here and there, reserving them as treasures for a rainy day.
This time of year when I happen upon an oak, I continue my autumn tradition and stoop low to gather a handful or two.
I ponder how much of nature is so terribly fragile, brittle and singular in dimension and consistency, but not acorns. Quite substantial in their makeup, their tough little shells and baret-like caps distinguish them with a bold sophistication
Above all, I believe it is perhaps the power and promise represented in one virile little acorn that endears me so, as in this quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
"The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn."
2010 © Copyright Paula Damon. A resident of Southeast South Dakota, Paula Damon is a national and state award-winning columnist. Her columns have won first-place in National Federation of Press Women, South Dakota Press Women and Iowa Press Women Communications Contests. In the 2009 and 2010 South Dakota Press Women Communications Contest, Paula's columns took first-place awards statewide. To contact Paula, email pauladamon@iw.net, follow her blog at www.my-story-your-story.blogspot.comand find her on Facebook.
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