Star Jones On Oprah: Trying To Revive A Career

Every time I've seen Star Jones since she left "The View," I've thought of how badly she handled the whole weight loss/wedding/leaving "The View" drama. She's a textbook case on how a public figure should not handle such public events in her life.

Last week Oprah Winfrey did a show about celebrities and weight loss which included Star. In the interview, Star finally admitted her dramatic 160 pound weight loss while she was on "The View" was due to gastric bypass surgery. She also said the reason she didn't say so at the time was because she was too emotionally fragile and ashamed to talk about it.

Though I sympathize with Star, my sympathy only goes so far because she had plenty of opportunities to make the entire situation better for herself.

One opportunity Star wasted was having a prominent colleague, Barbara Walters, ready and eager to tell her story with compassion, and not taking advantage of it. That's in addition to ignoring how many viewers would have supported and respected her for coming clean.

Star was not just a public figure, she was someone on a live, daily talk show, whose show was built around its co-hosts talking about their lives. So for one of those women to go through something so public and act like she was too good to talk about it felt like a betrayal to viewers. And if that sounds strong, you gotta remember that daytime viewers are primarily women and very loyal to shows and personalities they like. Viewers are investing their time in you and they expect something in return.

And it's not like Star wasn't warned. After hearing her say in the interview with Oprah that she warned several of her close advisers that she would fire them all if they ever mentioned coming clean about the surgery again, it makes me think those people were savvy media professionals who deserved a better client.

Going For The Bebe Goal: A Year Later

I'm overweight. I have been most of my life. Then a year ago today, I threw down the gauntlet to myself to finally lose the weight I need and get healthier.

A year ago today I wrote a post "Going For The Goal:  A Bebe Flared Trench Coat," in which I challenged myself to lose enough weight by today to fit into the purple Bebe, flared trench coat pictured on the left.

I'd hired myself a nutritionist who put me on a reasonable, portion controlled, plan that was nutritionally balanced---no more of these no carb, grapefruit diets for me---but wasn't so strict that it sent me into whiplash binges.  A treat here and there was totally acceptable.

And it's not like I hadn't tried a lot of this before, it was just this time I knew I had to get serious.

Well today I'm ready to report on my progress.

The suspense is killing you, isn't it?  You're waiting for me to reveal the picture of myself in the coat aren't you?

Podcast: Interview with Kelly Park from "How To Look Good Naked"

Hate your body?  Can't bear to look in the mirror?  If your answers are yes, stop right where you are and check out this podcast interview I did last week with Kelly Park. 

Kelly, a married Mom of a 10 year old daughter was featured on this season's premiere episode of Lifetime's reality television show, "How To Look Good Naked," hosted by Carson Kressley.  "HTLGN" takes a woman who hates her body and shows her that a large part of her problem may just be her perception of how she looks rather than how she really looks.

If you watch the "HTLGN" episode featuring Kelly on the Lifetime website---take special note of that DKNY black and white sundress we talk about during the podcast.

As someone who's had body image issues most of my life, I was inspired by Kelly's story and I think you will be too.

Listen to the podcast using the player on the BlogHer post or download the podcast here: Letter to My Body interview with Kelly Park. A transcript of the interview is also available.

Cross Posted From BlogHer

 

"America's Next Top Model" Winner: Whitney Thompson, A Juicy Booty

Last week Whitney Thompson became the first plus-sized model to win "America's Next Top Model."  Or as one of her makeup artists said before the final  runway competition, she was the "first juicy booty to make it on to the  runway."   

Of course the phrase "plus-sized model" is a relative term.  Whitney says she's a size 10 and though in the modeling world, that's considered big enough to call for a forklift, in the real world that's considered, dare I say it...pretty normal.

ANTM is one of my personal guilty pleasures.  All that strutting and pouting in high heels and expensive weaves gives me the giggles.  The show also taught me a shocking lesson:  models really have to know stuff.  They aren't just breadstick thin hangers with no brains.  They're highly trained professionals, skilled in a all kinds of important techniques.    Like actors, they need to know their facial structure.  Like dancers, they need to know movement.  Like prisoners, they need to know how  to live off bread and water.

Two weeks ago Tyra demonstrated the difference between a plain facial expression and the same expression except this time with her eyes smiling.  The difference was simply a matter of how she squinted her eyes, but I tried to do it and I nearly dislocated my eye socket.

It's lots of makeup and hairstyles and pretty pictures.  And as long as you don't take the whole enterprise too seriously, it's harmless fun.

Hooray For Starbucks! (Sort Of)

******CORRECTION******

The following is a post I wrote about Starbucks posting calorie counts for their drinks and pastries at their outlets.

What I didn't realize until commenter Joy pointed it out to me, is that the NYC bill that's been pushing for calorie counts in NYC restaurants of a certain size, not only passed but went into effect last weekend.  So my gushing over Starbucks was not deserved.  A sort of excuse is that I was out of town until yesterday, and the law went into effect on Monday.  But if I had done a quick Google search, I would have found out the facts.

I'm sorry if I misled anyone and I thank Joy for calling this to my attention.

                             *                          *                        *                        *

This morning I popped into my local Starbucks to get my Venti decaf, and imagine my shock when I saw calorie information cards in front of every pastry in their food showcase.

That's right.  Every luscious donut, every tantalizing scone, and every mouthwatering pastry had a little white card in front of it with the calorie count for the item. I think that's fantastic!

Take a look next time you go in for your cup of java because some of you are going to be shocked by what those little white cards say.  For example:

• Chocolate Donut - 490 calories,
• Banana Walnut Loaf - 470 calories
• Blueberry Scone - 400 calories
• Reduced Fat Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake - 300 calories
• Rustic Apple Tart - 200 calories

My surprises?  The chocolate donut and the rustic apple tart:  that the chocolate donut had that many and that the rustic apple tart had so few.

As someone who's trying to reach that trench coat goal, every bit of information that allows me to make healthier food choices is a wonderful thing.  Every fast food restaurant should be required to do the same.

So here's a big old Megan's Minute shout out to Starbucks for doing the healthy, right thing by their customers.

Stressed Out? Stand Up Straight!

Got neck pain?  Got back pain?  Feel tired all the time?  Well part of your problem may be as simple as you need to straighten up.  Yes, as much as we all hate to admit it, our mothers were right.

I'm talking about posture.

How do I know this?  Because when I hurt my shoulder and went for physical therapy, I realized how bad my posture was and has been for a long time.  I discovered I even hunch when I sleep.

Every time I went to physical therapy, the therapist would have me do a number of shoulder strengthening exercises, but what was important about them was she would continuously tell me to bring my shoulder blades down, and together.  If I was doing bicep curls I would face the mirror and concentrate on keeping my shoulders back, my head up and my shoulder blades down.

When was the last time you thought about how you walk? If you're unusually tall, and especially if you're a woman, it's possible you've unconsciously adopted a kind of stoop, in order to compensate for your height. Chances are you don't even realize you're doing it. Regardless of your height, though, think for a moment about the way you stand and walk. Do you keep your shoulders straight and maintain an erect posture? "

One day, as an experiment I tried walking that way when I left my physical therapy appointment.  Not like I was in the military mind you, just relaxed, with my head up, looking straight ahead and my arms swinging casually.

At first I felt self-conscious.  Somehow it felt aggressive and almost too bold...how ridiculous is that?  Then it started to feel good.  I couldn't help feeling a bit more confident and self-assured.

That was months ago and since that time, I always try to sit and walk with good posture.  The result?  The neck pain I used to get sometimes has now nearly disappeared.  One day when I was working on an especially stressful project, I got up to go to the bathroom.  As I walked down the hall, I forced myself to straighten my spine and bring my shoulder blades down.  All of a sudden my breathing got better and I immediately lost some of the tension that had built up over the previous couple of hours of working.

It was eye opening.

Now a word about handbags, one of the joys of my life and that of many women.  As a commuter, like so many women, I have to carry around my life with me in my bag for the day.  But kind of like the airlines, I have a one bag rule. Everything I need for one day must fit in one bag.  For example, in the summer, I use a stylish Nine West knapsack. Throughout the rest of the year I use a variety of bags of varying sizes.  Because I'm writing so much now, most days I carry a laptop with me in my Levenger laptop tote.  If I don't need the laptop, I use any one of my other handbags.

I mention all this because as most women know, what you're carrying, like the shoes you wear, affects your posture greatly.  Most of us carry bags that are much too heavy.  The current huge handbag trend is killing our shoulders.  All I have to do is watch women on my commute everyday to see how burdened so many women are by what they carry. 

My suggestions? 

1. Lighten up and straighten up.  If like me, you have to carry a laptop, use a well designed knapsack case to distribute the weight and be aware of your posture.  Don't hunch!
2. If you use a briefcase-like laptop case, switch it from one shoulder to another often, or use the briefcase handles and once again, be aware of your posture as you carry it.
3. If you don't have to carry a laptop, do an experiment.  Take your smallest handbag with you on your commute for one day.  Weed out everything but the absolute essentials and you'll discover how much stuff you're carrying around that you don't really need.
4. I love the big handbags as much as anyone, but if you carry one, that doesn't mean you have to fill it.  Once again, only carry essentials.  You don't need to carry stuff as if you were going on safari.
5. Wear comfortable shoes.  I know this won't go over well with the Manolo Blahnik set but you can carry one small tote (something the size of a Starbucks shopping bag) with your one handbag and use it to carry your Manolo's while you commute in comfortable flats.

My final caveat:  I'm not a doctor, nurse, physical therapist or someone who's studied medicine.  I'm just a woman who's observed and learned.  Adjusting my posture has made me feel better and look better and I didn't want to keep this free and simple tip to myself.

The Cupcake Pothole

Most of you know I'm on a nutritional yellow brick road to my own version of the Emerald City.  Namely a healthier body and a Bebe trench coat.

I hired a nutritionist, I'm on a very sensible and livable eating plan and I'm committed to progressing one step at a time.

Along the way I've skipped happily past several milestones:  the loss of twelve pounds, the satisfying feeling of walking at least fifteen blocks twice a week, a better balance of nutritional meals throughout my day, and the loosening of those denims that were starting to get a little too tight.

I've also hit some bumps.  Like the night I found out about the serious illness of a family friend and ate seven 100 calorie packs of crackers.  Or the night I had to deal with one too many disgustingly happy couples and ate cold steamed dumplings straight out of the fridge followed by a large bag of potato chips.

But I've also had several lovely moments in the fast lane.  Like when I called my nutritionist the day after the dumpling incident and asked her to give me a pep talk to tide me over the weekend.  She did, and it worked.

Hands down though, my favorite moment was the day a co-worker was moving on to a new job.  Word went out through the office that there were Buttercup Bake Shop cupcakes in her office for any and all who wanted them.

Buttercup Bake Shop cupcakes!  Oh my God, I love Buttercup cupcakes!

I hesitated briefly, but I had to go see them.  Saying goodbye to my co-worker was a distant afterthought.

When I arrived at my co-worker's office there were boxes of assorted cupcakes everywhere.  It was like a cocktail party except instead of beautiful, festive drinks, there were the beautiful, festive cupcakes.  There were the pastel colored, vanilla cupcakes, the rich, German chocolate cupcakes, and the gorgeous, red velvet cupcakes.  People were either munching on luscious, sugar coated confections, saying goodbye to my co-worker or both.

Oh my.  Even though I could feel myself slipping, I went over to the boxes and admired the delicate treats with the dainty crowns of icing.  I inhaled the sweet hint of their sugary perfume and imagined biting into one.  Hmmmm.

Then an amazing thing happened.  Slowly, dispassionately and with the detachment of someone who didn't have my eating issues, I turned away.  I wasn't going to have one.

I knew I could have one if I wanted, and reassured myself I will have one again in my lifetime.  Just not now.  It was my choice, and I had chosen to decline. 

With a backward glance at the cupcakes, I wished my co-worker well and returned to my own office.

I had bypassed the cupcake pothole and continued on my way.  I felt proud, satisfied and extremely pleased with myself.

"I control the cupcake," I thought with a laugh.  "The cupcake does not control me."

Later on at home, I wrote that line on an index card and left it on my kitchen counter.  It's still there because that day, "I controlled the cupcake.  The cupcake did not control me."

Going For The Goal: A Bebe Flared Trench

I'm throwing down the gauntlet and if a year from now, I haven't taken it up and run with it, I'm going to look awfully foolish.

Let me start at the beginning.

I have a special fondness for trench coats.  Especially if they are stylish and break away from the plain old beige number that's been the rainy day uniform in the business world for years.  A couple of weeks ago "The View" did a fashion show and it included the trench coat pictured to the left from Bebe.  It was in this spectatular red color, had a flared bottom and was positively beautiful.

I fantasized about wearing that coat with its pretty flared skirt, in that beautiful red color that would show off my skin tone to perfection.  But alas I put it out of my mind because it was from Bebe, the specialty store for the XXS woman.

I've never shopped at Bebe.  Bebe is a whole other universe as far as a woman of my plus size dimensions is concerned.  As far as I knew Bebe clothes consisted primarily of spandex mini dresses and tops ranging in sizes from S to XXS with the odd M and L thrown in.  One of those stores that a woman of my size 22 would never walk into without expecting a snooty saleswoman asking skeptically if "she could find my size."

No sooner had a I forgotten about the coat than two days later Barbara Walters comes out wearing it on "The View!"

She wore it as a dress over some black pants and I took it as a personal insult.  Not because she looked so bad, but because even at her advanced age she could wear that XXS size.  I was now obssessed with that coat.  I wanted it and I wanted it now.  But how to fit that XXS coat on my XXL body?

Then I had a flash of brilliance.  If I couldn't wear it, I could live vicariously through someone who could.  My friend Kay has lost quite a bit of weight over the last year and she looks fabulous and feels great.  She just told me last week how she was now fitting into a standard L and how much that pleased her.  She could wear the coat for me!

So into the breach I went, stepping confidently into my nearest Bebe store.  Instead of the snooty saleswoman I was expecting I was helped by a very nice pencil thin, young man who directed me to the trench coats.  "The View" must be a good trench coat seller because there were no red ones left but there was a beautiful deep purple in a size L.  I grabbed it before anyone else could and for good measure I grabbed three of the other trench coat styles in a variety of colors and bought them all.

After work I burst into Kay's house with those golden bronze Bebe bags and she was like, you bought something at Bebe?  What could you have possibly bought at the specialty store for XXS women?

As an answer I whipped out all four trench coats and made her try them all on.  They all fit and looked wonderful on her newly svelte body, expecially my favorite, the purple flared version.  I had planned to give her whichever one she liked the best as a congratulations for doing so well with her weight loss, but she wasn't having it.  She agreed they were quite beautiful but protested she had nowhere to wear them.

Then she came up with the idea I'd had in the back of my mind all along.  She saw how much I loved the purple coat and she said if I wanted to keep it, she would wear it this fall and I could wear it next fall.

I had to admit, that had been in my mind all along.  One reason was Kay and I have similar builds.  If the coat looked good on her now, by next fall, minus several pounds it would look good on me as well.  The coat could be my incentive to, as Dr. Phil would say, get real.

So we made an agreement.  She'd wear the coat at least three times this fall and then she'd give it back to me over the winter so I had a visual weight loss goal hanging in my closet.

I've needed and wanted to lose weight for quite some time now but when the going gets tough I tend to cave.  I won't go into my historical challenges trying to lose weight or my seesawing pounds over the years, but I will say as I've gotten older the realization that I have to do something has become perfectly clear.

However I refuse to make this blog about weight loss because I get sick of reading about diets and weight loss and everyone has to eventually do it in his or her own way.  I will say I'm going to see a nutrionist to help out and I will give periodic updates of my progress. At the end of a year, say September 30, 2008, I hearby pledge to post a picture of myself wearing that purple trench coat.

Game on.

Onward and Upward

Have you heard of the musical "Stop The World, I Want To Get Off?"  That's what it's been like for me the last week.

Two major items were on my plate demanding my attention at the same time, both very important.

I was waiting to find out if my shoulder needed surgery and I was also waiting to find out about a new blogging opportunity.  By the end of the week I found out my shoulder may not need surgery (yeah!), and the blogging opportunity that seemed like a sure thing at the beginning of the week, was a no go by the end of the week (bleh!).

I was disappointed and surprised because I'd basically been offered the job.  What happened? I don't know, but I do know that it's time to move on.

Onward and upward.  No more crying over spilt milk.  Time to make lemonade.  Time to bask in the silver lining.  Time to....you get it.

So what's up next at Megan's Minute?  Tomorrow is Megan's infamous Monday Mail Call.  The end of the week will bring July's Handbag of the Month.  In between, because Wimbledon starts tomorrow, they'll be special tennis coverage.  All tennis, all the time, with special emphasis on the women.  Hooray for the women!

And if I can possibly fit them in, those long-awaited "MI-5" recaps.  Yeah, I know.  Promises, promises. 

Plus some special posts that I've been holding in my pocket for quite some time.  Stay tuned.

Onward and upward.

The MRI Mystery

Have you ever had an MRI?

In my moderately short lifetime, I've had a total of three. One on my right wrist and as of last week, one on each of my shoulders.

Last week's diagnostic ordeal was courtesy of my tennis misfortunes of a couple of weeks ago.

While lying there in my open MRI with my hospital supplied headset piping Vivaldi through my ears, I once again asked myself how the hell they ever get anyone to submit to an MRI.

I like to think of myself as a fairly brave person. Someone who doesn't panic in a crisis, someone who doesn't faint at the sight of blood, someone who's calm in the face of the many confusing choices on a Starbuck's menu. But when that flat, cream-white, enormous disk of the MRI machine is two inches from the tip of my nose and the only thing to let me know that I'm not about to be buried alive is a glimpse of the white walls on either side of my peripheral vision, I found myself this close to a panic attack, to end all panic attacks.

It didn't help when the last thing the technician did before he left the room was press into my hand a little, red rubber ball attached to a wire, that was "for emergencies." You mean like if I start hyperventilating and imagining that I'm going to be crushed alive by the huge, frightening, alien, medical machine?  Oh, thanks.

While the machine took its magnetic pictures with its usual clanging, banging and incessant knocking, I kept thinking---when my mind was clear enough to think---that it sounded like a hyper-active jackhammer inside a steel drum, set on high.

Add to that the fact that the sounds were directly above my head, and not nearly drowned out by the well-meaning but barely helpful headsets they supply you with, and it was enough to make me want to beg for mercy.

And this was an open MRI. The one that's supposed to be so much less traumatic than the closed one.

I tried to focus on my breathing.  In…out…in…out…slowly…relax...in…out…over and over again.  The technician still had to repeat two of the scans because my barely controlled breathing made my shoulder move too much.

The inventor who comes up with a more humane diagnostic test to take the place of MRI is going to make a fortune.  Hopefully, no one out there will have to have one before that happens.

Tennis: A Tough Taskmaster

Tennis is a tough taskmaster.

Roger Federer and I both found that out this weekend.

Of course Roger's downfall was on a much larger scale than mine, his quest for a French Open championship once again being denied by the fiery 21 year old from Spain, Rafael Nadal.

Nadal is so brilliant on clay, he allowed the No. 1 player in the world and probably the greatest male tennis player ever born, only one set to entertain the thought that he might finally conquer the master of clay in his greatest arena.  After all, Federer was understandably encouraged by his win over Nadal a few weeks ago in the final of the German Open.

But Federer forgot that the kid from Spain is a tenacious, unyielding backboard when it comes to defending his home turf for the last two years, namely the red clay of Roland Garros.

Federer looked utterly crushed after Sunday's final, and though I believe he will eventually find a way to prevail in Paris, maybe even beating Nadal there, he's going to have to dig deeper into his bag of substantial tennis bag of tricks to do it.

My own tennis downfall was no less painful, though Roger might contest that.

My mixed doubles team went to Albany last weekend to compete in the USTA Sectionals Tournament to determine the best mixed doubles team at our level on the East Coast.  More details on the competition will come in a post later this week.

But this is about my own version of Roger Federer's Roland Garros defeat.

For the last two weeks, I'd been feeling a twinge in my right shoulder during tennis practice.  It wasn't anything I didn't think could be fixed with some pills, some ice and some rest, but that would all have to wait until after sectionals.