Blog Posts by Jessica Ashley, Senior Editor

Getty ImagesOf course, Ivanka golfs. I'm sure it's a requirement for schmoozing with Big Papa Boss's cronies. Oh, and for keeping healthy, active and fit.

Here, Ivanka gets pointers from the LPGA's Morgan Pressel on holding a new Callaway club. I'm not even going to go for the easy swing at Ivanka's heels on the mini-putting green. After all, who hasn't exercised -- or at least attempted it -- in fabulous clicky-clicky shoes? Let's not poke fun at Ivanka, especially since she's at least safely and chic-ly coordinated a glove with those fiery hot pumps.

In the best of all health and fashion worlds, Ivanka would hand her shoes over to wee Morgan in exchange for some hard-core lessons on a real course. That'd be a real trump for them both, don't you think?

Simon Cowell won't be endorsing Viagra, not even for $2 million, THANK YOU VERY MUCH, YOU MEDIOCRE KARAOKE COMPETITORS AND LAME CRUISE SHIP SINGERS.

He says it was an "insult" to be asked to be the British spokesperson even though he's previously admitted to lifts of a different kind -- wearing platform shoes and Botox treatments.

I admit, I usual agree with Simon, especially the kinder, gentler way he's judging this season, and I'm cheering this judgment as well. Do we really need celebs lending their names to pharmaceuticals after all? Shouldn't the influencer be a medical professional and not a dude in a ribbed shirt who has a knack for spotting the It Factor and calling kooky Paula out on her own (ahem) imbalances?

Now you write the Rx: Should celebrities promote pharmaceuticals?

Nicole Kidman's staying in shape by keeping stationary. Or at least as stationary as you can be during a sweat-inducing spin class to Mary J. Blige, Culture Club and Bon Jovi (you know that even the ever-serious, eyebrow arching Ms. Kidman shook those itty bitty tail feathers Livin' On a Prayer style). Perhaps most surprising is the news that she cracked a smile when a song by baby papa Keith Urban popped up in the mix.

I'm loving Nicole looking healthier and healthier, not just from the lovely post-spin flush in her porcelain cheeks but with the lovely (albeit slight) curves that are coming with pregnancy. I say, as long as you can see your feet to put on your trainers and as long as your toes aren't too Flinstoney to fit in the pedal straps, then go on with your snappy, spinning prenatal self.

I have no idea if the whole herbal cold remedy thing is a miracle cure or a bunch of hooey. While I am very happy dosing up on Emergen-C at the slightest sign of germ infestation in me or any other member of my family, circle of friends, son's preschool or greater Chicagoland area, that's about as far as I've taken my alterna-meds. However, I know people -- teachers, flight attendants, parents, baristas, you know who you are -- who swear by this Airborne stuff. Swear. By. It.

But now the investigative journalists, lawyers and all kinds of other regulatory folk have stepped in to see if Airborne's living up to its claims and if the sniffling, sneezing, thinking-they're-gonna-get-cured public deserves some kind of compensation for not getting cured after all. For now, they think you do. That means refunds, whether you still have your receipt or not (which, of course, you don't). Rather large refunds, I think. Rather large refunds with which to invest in Costco-sized boxes of

Over the weekend, I was waiting for my skinny vanilla latte at a local Starbucks when I noticed a few new books on their bookshelves. Beautiful Boy, a newly-released memoir by Bay Area journalist David Sheff, stared back at me. The title caught my eye first since I often call my three-year old son my beautiful boy, who informed me the same day that he'd much rather be referred to as "cool" than "beautiful." It was the subtitle, A Father's Journey Through His Son's Meth Addiction, that made me pick the book up and read the inside flap of the jacket.

My latte was called and I put the book back on the shelf. Until this morning, that is, when a wonderful interview with David Sheff is up on Salon. It is an interview that is engaging and vulnerable, honest and informed, scary and raw -- pretty much what I think the journey is like for those people who love an addict. David Sheff's experience as a father who wants to believe his son, who holds on to a naive faith in his son even in the

Getty ImagesThe world of eating disorders, or at least how we understand them in their many forms and complexities, is opening up. Once upon a time when Karen Carpenter and the after-school special girl who snuck off to the bathroom at the end of lunchtime in the caf were what we knew of eating disorders was either starving to death or the binge and purge. Today, eating disorders are categorized much more specifically, ranging from new medical classification to trendy names touted in trash magazines and on tabloid TV shows. Debuting most recently? Drunkorexia.

Drunkorexia, according to this piece in New York Times, is the combination of starvation and alcohol abuse. While not a medical term, the article cites young, college-aged women as the primary participants in Drunkorexia by bingeing on alcohol and then severely restricting their food intake to offset the liquid calories they've ingested.

Clearly, the formula is not healthy and the combination of substance and bodily abuse has a weighty

Getty ImagesThe last time we saw John Stamos, wasn't he babbling crazy-talk on an Australian television show? Well, let's just choose to believe he's cleaned up his sleeping pill-jet lag blamey self and has found his way back to clarity in a kayak. In a hot, sweaty, open-air, rugged yet just-clean-cut-enough, fi-iiit kayak.

Let's also choose to focus on ex-wife Rebecca Romijn's current bliss with new hubs Jerry O'Connell and put in the past whatever went wrong in that first marriage (Becks, we're totally talking about your happy, healthy looking self in another post, pinky swear).

via Jezebel

Getty ImagesI imagine that most people who live in climates that get cold in the winter will agree that it is easy to chub up during those months. Sure, we could all just raise our fists and curse at the whole season, but there might also be a few practical ways to outsmart Old Man Winter's impact on your body.

Dumb Little Man's broken down seven simple explanations for why winter's making us fat and, with that glimmer of hope we all crave, five ways we can fight back. According to this post, we gain weight in the winter because we are moving less, cooking on our own less, exposing our bodies less, weight lifting less and sleeping more. We also may be experiencing some effects of Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D.) at the same time our bodies are putting on an extra layer of insulation, just like otters and other animals do (see how I diplomatically avoided any whale comparisons?).

And then there's the old holiday excuse. At this point in the game, many of us have already put on the ten pounds