Blog Posts by Glamour Magazine

In junior high, my mother picked me up from school in her Volvo station wagon, my sister perched in the back. We waited through the throngs of walkers, and I cowered a bit in the front seat. Like every 14-year-old, I was hyper-self-conscious and the fact that my mom and her boyfriend were major hippies and no one in Wisconsin had ever heard of a Volvo before and thought our car was "weird" was a major embarrassment. (It wasn't until the Volvo finally went to the great Swedish Auto graveyard in the sky that I discovered the untapped cachet of the brand.) In eighth grade, your weapon was your mouth, and I was always on the defense, but was practicing my superpower of turning invisible by not meeting anyone's gaze, by not thinking any thoughts or showing emotion. It was probably my best skill until I learned how to tie a cherry stem in a knot without using my fingers. Two girls in my grade passed in front of the car at an intersection.

Two average girls, not popular, closer to the cast

Maybe the locovores are tapping into something more than just a habit that is good for the planet. Dr. Daphne Miller has spent a lot of time and energy studying the indigenous diets of global cold spots to figure out what it is that makes them so darned healthy and she found that the local diet of these areas were largely responsible for the continued health of the population. Some of them ate a ton of omega-3-rich protein, some of them ate a heck of a lot of sea vegetables, while others ate a lot of potatoes, but they were all eating what was widely available to them. I guess it makes sense that if your ancestors were eating a bunch of a certain thing and thriving on it, you would share with their genes and therefore might need that same balance of nutrition. But check it: most of the people in Dr. Miller's study only had about 20-30 actual ingredients available to them.

Dr. Miller discusses this in depth in her new book, The Jungle Effect, but when I consider my average week, I

Remember a week or so ago when I developed that madras-plaid fetish? Well, it got real bad. I wanted everything in the preppy pattern. I bid on a bunch of stuff, and then for some reason (my own slowness or cheapness) I wound up with nothing. It was all sad, but the real heartbreak was the jumper, which I lost in its auction's last moments. Afterward I could not stop thinking about that piece. I mean, I had big summer plans for it: I imagined riding my bike wearing it with red round-toe flats; walking on the boardwalk in it with big sunglasses and flip-flops, perhaps eating a snow cone; throwing it on in the morning to get coffee and blog. The entire situation was a True. Ebay. Tragedy. But then I was in Old Navy on Friday, and nestled amid its lamé bikinis and hot pink maxi dresses, there it was, hiding: my new jumper. I have to say, I may like this one even better. It's so comfortable and soft, with a belly-friendly drawstring waist and cute little cuffed shorts-all for just $20,

Charlize Theron needs the skinniest "fat" body double we've ever heard of, and a trip to Lee Lee's Valise results in bra fit tips for the well-endowed that reveal where 85% of us are going wrong.

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...and, believe it or not, they're not so stellar. Here's the e-mail I received from Dr. Mauro yesterday:

Erin: the pcr is back;
it registered a "weak positive" in the standard run
a little different positivity than the indeterminate values in the
nested pcr we have seen on and off but still unlikely to be a concern.
call me when you can, ok?

We spoke for a long time and he assured me he's not worried and I shouldn't be either (I'm not. Seriously). A weak positive means they couldn't even quantify the amount of CML that's there. Dr. Mauro called it "Ipsy Pipsy"--meaning (I think) that it's such a small bit of leukemia that it gets a cute name. Many docs believe that we CML patients will always have some disease in our systems, despite how well we've done on treatment and despite what the tests say. And sometimes that amount will ebb and flow which means a "weak positive" one month will very likely be an "undetectable" the next. (Let's hope!)

Still,

This was the weekend of the 48 Hour Film Project, the brief nationwide fit of insanity where amateur filmmakers are given--go on, guess how long--to write, shoot and edit a movie in an assigned random genre, which must include Project-dictated elements: a line of dialogue, a character and a prop. It starts Friday night at 7 p.m.; the clock ticks over at 7:00 p.m. on Sunday, and then you fall over and die because holy crap, that is not a lot of time to do a movie in.

On Friday evening, J. and I showed up outside the very beautiful SLC library to collect our genre, and to find out what elements we would be forced, reluctantly and at gunpoint, to include. It was a courtyard full of really astonishing people; the number of male ponytails took my breath away. 1987 called and asked for its aesthetic and self-loathing back, and the guy heading up the project was wearing Birkenstocks with socks. Could you ask for more from your 48-hour film project? You certainly cannot.

We ended up with

Heidi Klum has not only heard the suggestions that Posh Spice needs to eat a cheeseburger, but she's actually done something about it. For VickyB's recent 34th birthday, Klum had a dozen cupcakes sent to the waif wife of the hottest soccer player in the world, with a note that read "Happy Birthday--expect a dozen every Friday! Love, Heidi."

For anyone else, this would be a pretty brilliant birthday prezzie, especially since the cupcake flavors that will be gracing Posh's doorstep weekly look seriously yummers, but given Mrs. Beck's adamant refusal for bakery items or carbs of any sort, it's kind of a bitchy, mean girl thing for Heidi to do. And I kind of feel badly for imagining the look of horror passing over Posh's face when she opened the card and envisioned the weekly delivery of thousands of empty calories topped with delicious frosting. Not too badly, but still.

What do you think? Is Heidi Klum an uber- b*tch ? Is she just playing the game that Posh already understands? Or,

It's amazing, how strong a hold childhood textures and flavors and smells can have on you. How sometimes the memory of something you grew up eating can be so powerful, and you develop a craving so great that it is possible that you will die without having a taste, just one tiny bite, of your mother's super-famous apple pie or oven-braised pot roast or, if you grew up in my house, something from a box. My mother has many great qualities and I adore her, but being a whiz in the kitchen is not one of them. My brother and I still loved her food, and what we loved most of all actually never came out of a box--it was the tuna noodle salad she made up, which disgusts people when we tell them about it, but which fills our hearts with happiness. Basically: elbow macaroni, a can of tuna, a tomato, a lot of mayonnaise (Hellman's only!), salt, pepper. Mix into a goopy, beautiful mess. Eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next three days.

I am a grown-up, now, with totally sophisticated