Category Archives: health & wellness

Fashion Designers Microbe-Manage NY Fashion Week

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photo by Swamibu

photo by Swamibu

It’s hard to believe, but the same folks who’ve instigated fashion induced bunions, sciatica, sprained ankles, deep vein thrombosis, acid reflux, yeast infections and constipation, have concocted ways to avert colds and flu during NY Fashion Week crunch time.

The fashion industry might’ve been in typical panic mode, but this year the 2013 Fall Collections were smack in the not-so-flat belly of the most serious flu epidemic in history. While designers oversaw the final stitches and selections, models were dropping like busty mannequins due to influenza. This prompted a handful of clever designers to nix the bug with their own personal brand of achoo-voodoo.

Side note: to protect my sources, names will not be disclosed.

If you saw Designer #1’s show, you’d swear you had lied your way into the Cirque Du Soliel tent by mistake. Don’t let the nymphes vertes fool you; it was actually the debut NY show of one notable European designer, who winked to his newcomer status by dipping his models in green from head to toe. While some think he procured tubs of Smash Box Fern, I’m here to report otherwise. This clever designer discovered (by way of his Alsatian great-grandmother) that Absinthe’s stiletto-high alcohol content kills cold and flu germs on contact. Mix a little Absinthe with the adhesive used for fly strips, paint this concoction on the limbs of models and voila! You’ve got yourself a human germ trap. Bravo Designer #1!

What if models are already sniffly? Ask Designer #2 and she’d say: voluminous sleeves. Where else they gonna tuck those tissues? (#obvi.) While traveling for inspiration for her upcoming line, in the Uttar Pradesh region of India, this designer went mad over the abundance of peppermint and menthol, specifically for its varied medicinal benefits. She couldn’t get her hands on enough menthol crystals to bring home to NY. (Unfortunately, since the airline allowed only one carry-on, her supply didn’t last long once metro-side.) Sadly, the folks at Duane Reade are unfamiliar with menthol crystals, so Vicks Vapor Rub will have to do. A bit fortuitous, as she resourcefully discovered when creating the makeup look for her runway models. Unable to locate a tube of M.A.C. Lipglass, she insisted the makeup artist try Vicks Vapor Rub swiped across lips. Not only did it create ice-like shine, it doubled as a super intense nasal decongestant! No cold’s gonna stop her show. #boom. Hey, all you sneezy ladies, Gesundheit!

You may have read about the fashionistas’ current obsession with hand sanitizer (as pedestrian as that might sound). One accessories designer, #3, inspired by her #sociallyacceptableaddiction, commissioned a master Murano glassblower to create vibrant-chic amulets filled with this bacterium-buster, strung on satin cord making it exceedingly wearable. I’m told that when these mesmerizing trinkets caught the light of the cameras’ flash on the runway they became dangerously hypnotic. (#oops.)

To ward off flu juju, Designer #4, the Woody Allen of the fashion cosmos, doled out a daily dose of schmaltz to his staff and models. It’s not exactly clear who makes the huge vats of this thick gelatinous rendered poultry fat and bottles it for the office, but swirling rumors point to his mother. The secret to “her” schmaltz is the minced cloves of raw garlic that go into every shot glass (served with a spoon). The fact that so many models scramble to work for Designer #4, even in the midst of cold season, is a testament to their love and respect for this fashion genius (#mamasboy). Anyway, some of the girls say it’s not too bad after a couple Gailoises. (How ‘bout a shot of Schnapps? I’m just saying.)

Designer #5, of all things haute couture, has always preferred the bold, pull no punches approach and chose to send her models down the runway wearing white paper surgical masks. À la Michael Jackson. Her supporters say it was fashionably irreverent and shouted “I like me!” Others say it was infinitely more modern than last season when her models walked with their head’s stuck out of toilet seats.

There you have it! NY Fashion Week in all its chafed-nose gloriousness! If you found yourself getting caught up in the fever, shivering with excitement and aching for more, call your doctor, you sound terrible. (#purellanyone.)

 

I am Not a Hoarder

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junkdrawer 005

Not until I hit my forties did I start thinking about my senior years and the person I’d become. Actually, there was one time before, when I took a theater makeup course in college. For our midterm exam we had to transform our face into the eighty-year-old version of ourselves. That was sobering. After I cleaned up, I applied SPF 80 and a good deal of blush and have kept it on since.

There are many common fears of aging: loss of hair (or growth in unsightly places) or teeth, loss of physical strength or mental acuity, becoming incontinent, becoming sick. But except for losing my memory, the only thing I really fear is becoming a hoarder.

I wish I could say that I only had one junk drawer, like normal people. But more than that, I must admit, I love my junk rooms−drawers. Is that bad? I am not a hoarder. I don’t think. However, I fear I may display some early indicators:

*a cabinet full of cords. I don’t know what they are used for−if I knew that, then I’d know if I needed them. USB, ethernet, coaxial, HDMI, monster cables. Most of these are still in sealed plastic bags secured with twisty-ties. I have a collection of phone chargers, battery charges, camera and portable dvd chargers that I’m scared to throw away. I’m sure I no longer own half the things these chargers are meant to charge.

*paint cans. I have saved every paint can I’ve ever bought. Notice I said bought, not used. I even keep reject colors. Even empty cans. I save those because the formulas are written on the lids. Most of the colors are custom. They are not from a paint chip found in strips at Home Depot. I always return those colors so the paint people can add black or add white to get the colors absolutely perfect (perhaps that’s a sign of another problem). All this customization means the colors cannot be duplicated unless I save the original cans.

*pieces of scrap wood, fabric, foam, metal. Any of these things can be used in the future to create a genius abstract work of art.

*about sixteen years’ worth of shelter magazines. They are all so gorgeous; you never know when you’ll need some advice on color combinations, furniture juxtapositions or a little bit of creative inspiration.

*“box” of hardware. Okay, it’s not really a box as much as it is a bench. I bought the bench for my tools, but my hardware collection is much more impressive! There are screws and nails (indoor and outdoor), hinges, bolts, nuts, washers, knobs, locks, door stops, springs, tacks and some other lesser known pieces of hardware. I sometimes take things apart and save the hardware. Why? I don’t know!

*shipping boxes. I have a special closet just for shipping boxes of every size and shape imaginable (including tubes). These are boxes I’ve received in the mail from ordering stuff, but I simply can’t part with a good box. Although my box collection is extraordinary, it is far exceeded by my collection of bags, both paper and plastic. I have, without intending to boast, clearly the most staggering bag collection you have ever seen. I am not in the least bit biased, I collect bags from all types of establishments, mass or posh, but it’s the bags with metal or twine handles, circular or trapezoid shaped, with gussets, without!, die-cut with logos, matte laminated, 4 color 100% ink coverage with grosgrain handles, that I truly covet.

*shelves of old towels, sheets and blankets. There could be a storm and I might need to host unexpected sleep-over guests. A lot of them. Or, I could end up with a beach house someday. I’m gonna need a surplus of sheets and towels then, won’t I?

*jars and bottles of unique shapes, cookie tins, souvenir shot glasses, as-seen-on-tv kitchen gadgets, camp art projects, crazy-glue tubes forever sealed, AA batteries, old address books, orphaned gloves and socks, buttons, business cards, eyeglass repair kits and a rolodex.

Please help me. Becoming a hoarder doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a slow gathering. An unnoticeable, subtle collecting. I may be exhibiting warning signs.

I may need an intervention.

If you think I could benefit from an intervention, please give me some advance notice so I can clear out the garage.

Let the Storms Come

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photo by StormLoverSwin93

photo by StormLoverSwin93

The wind’s fury can lash bruises across my skin. Uproot my soul.

Lightening can pierce a chasm through my heart, as thunder deafens promises.

The rains pelt my resolve and flood my eyes.

Watch my bearings rattle as the earth crumbles under foot.

An avalanche can bury me.

The light is snuffed but I’m not in darkness.

Because you are with me.

And natural disasters can’t damage like man-made ones.

Signs that You’ve Begun the “Losing Spontaneity” Stage of Life

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Remember when, in your twenties, a friend would call and ask you to join her for a run? Me neither. No one ever asked me to go for a run. I wouldn’t be caught dead running.

Ok, let’s say she called and said, “Do you want to go for a walk?” To that I’d reply, “Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you at the park.”

But my response to a question like this, these days, is very different. That’s because I’ve entered the “losing spontaneity” stage of life. You’ll recognize it in yourself if you start to talk like Woody Allen in Hannah and her Sisters.

These days when someone asks me to go for a walk, my first response is, “A walk?” Then, “Now?”

Once it’s established that the friend indeed said walk and meant now, I mumble something about how I haven’t had my coffee yet, and that I can’t go anywhere without coffee.

“I’ll meet you in 45 minutes,” I say to my friend.

“It takes you 45 minutes to have coffee?”

“Well, I need to eat something. I can’t drink coffee on an empty stomach.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll come over and pick you up.”

When my friend arrives I’m practically ready to go. I welcome her inside while I run (walk) to the mudroom for my running (walking) shoes. Two minutes later she’s at the door of the mudroom. “What are you doing?”

I’m on all fours looking under the shoe bench. “I can’t find my left orthotic. I can’t go on a walk without them.”

“I didn’t know you wore orthotics.”

“Ever since the plantar fasciitis, I can’t walk to the damn bathroom without them. Which, I’ll have you know; I walk to frequently.”

My friend gets on the floor to help me find it. “We better hurry,” she says “it’s supposed to rain around lunchtime.” We find the left orthotic; I gear up, grab my sunscreen and slather SPF 75 all over my exposed skin.

“You’re not gonna need that,” she says, “it’s about to rain.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, “that medication for my arrhythmia makes me photosensitive. I can get a sunburn in the dark.”

My friend claps her hands like a coach. “Let’s go.”

I slip the sunscreen into my backpack while reaching for my nose spray from my fleece pocket. I give the left nostril two squirts. “The leaves at the park are gonna kill me. Did they remove those yet?”

“I don’t think they remove leaves from a park.”
“Well, those leaves are just one big mold pile now. You should know that I’m crazy allergic to mold.” Two squirts in the right nostril. “It could trigger a maniacal sneezing frenzy. I never used to care about sneezing fits, but now with the arrhythmia, it can really spell trouble. Just fyi, if that happens on our walk don’t hesitate to call 911. I don’t wanna have a heart attack in the park so that gossipy tennis lady, who I sometimes get stuck playing doubles with, will see me foaming at the mouth.”

“I don’t think you foam at the mouth when you’re having a heart attack. But if you prefer, we could go for a hike in the reservation. We don’t have to go to the park.”

“No. What are you crazy? The park has a bathroom. I can’t go on a hike where there’s no bathroom. Come to think of it, I need to go right now.”

“I’ll wait in the car,” says my friend.

I run to the car and we pull out of my driveway. “This is gonna be fun,” I say. I breathe in deeply, “Nothing like fresh air tinged with the smell of rain. I just love days like today. Great “walk in the park” weather.”

Before we get very far the skies open up and unload torrential rain. It gets so fierce that my friend needs to pull over to the side of the road and wait for it to lighten up.

She takes a look at her watch and then over at me. “Wanna go for something to eat. It’s practically lunch time.”

“Lunch? Now? Without my Lactaid…?”