woof woof...

Wawa...

I just cancelled my water from Ice Mountain.  To calm down my fear of the toxicity in plastic containers, I called them to find  out whether the trucks were refrigerated. They said no. Drinking bottled water is plain scary in this wild and wooly heatwave.   Putting those bottles inside the truck is like putting them inside a hot oven. Eeek. Outside Temperature Inside Closed Automobile Indoor/Outdoor Oven Thermometer 9:00 am 82° 109° ---- 9:30 am 87° 115° ---- 10:00 am 91° 115° ---- 10:30 am 94° 114° 115° 11:00 am 98° 114° 119° 11:30 am 100° 117° 124° 12:00 pm 101° 119° 127° 1:30 pm 112° 124° 130° 2:30 pm 125° 130+° 159° 4:00 pm 98° 110° 110° Heat causes chemical to leach from plastic Updated 1/30/2008 12:05 PM |  Comments 39  |  Recommend 59 |

Enlarge By Jack Gruber, USA TODAY Melissa and Omar Melendez and their daughter, Lexie Jade Melendez, as she drinks from a stainless steel sippy cup during a visit to a family farm pumpkin patch in Lathrop, Calif., near their home. Since learning about bisphenal A, the family has used only BPA-free bottles and stainless steel sippy cups. A new study may provide a clearer picture of how a controversial chemical called bisphenol A leaches out of plastics. Concern over bisphenol A, or BPA, has grown since August, when a government panel expressed "some concern" that the ingredient — used in some plastic bottles, dental sealants and linings of metal cans — causes neural and behavioral problems among children. The study in today's Toxicology Lettersprovides evidence that heat — not frequent use — may pose the greatest problem. Previous studies have shown that repeated wear and tear — such as running baby bottles through the dishwasher — makes BPA leach out of plastic, says the study's main author, Scott Belcher of the University of Cincinnati. GRAPHIC: How BPA leaching can occur In the study, new and old bottles filled with room-temperature water released the same amount of BPA. When scientists exposed new and used bottles to boiling water, however, they released BPA up to 55 times more rapidly than before heating. BPA is known as an "environmental estrogen" or "endocrine disruptor" because it can mimic the effect of sex hormones on the body, Belcher says. Belcher didn't test baby bottles or cans of infant formula, products that have generated perhaps the most concern about BPA's safety. Instead, Belcher — an avid climber and mountaineer — focused on plastic bottles that he and other hikers commonly use. BPA isn't used in all bottles. It's found in polycarbonate plastic with a number 7 recycling code, a category that includes several types of plastics. Though scientists haven't yet conducted definitive studies in people, animal tests show that BPA affects reproduction and brain development, Belcher says. Government tests have found BPA in 95% of people studied. Steve Hentges of the American Chemistry Council says Belcher's study adds little new information, although it does dispel the "myth" that old polycarbonate bottles break down and become unsafe. He notes that many other studies have shown that BPA can migrate into food. Significantly, however, government safety agencies in Europe and Japan also have concluded that the tiny amounts of BPA that make it into food aren't a risk. The Food and Drug Administration, which said in November that it's "actively reviewing" BPA's safety, also has said typical daily exposures to the chemical aren't dangerous. Many remain concerned, however. Last week, Reps. John Dingell and Bart Stupak, both Michigan Democrats, announced they're investigating the use of BPA in products intended for children, such as cans of formula, which may be lined with BPA. They sent letters asking about the safety of BPA to the FDA and seven formula manufacturers. A new study may provide a clearer picture of how a controversial chemical called bisphenol A leaches out of plastics.By Liz Szabo, USA TODAY

eggzacklee.

39th Anniversary...

Thank you, Bruce for treating me like Pippa Middleton. Now quit being a food pimp and asking me if I want another Klondike bar.

Pops and Gwen

Supersize...

I'm tired of it. Weight is a huge struggle for me. Everywhere around me I am being pressured into eating things I don't want to eat. I ordered a fajita the other day and the waitress insisted that I get a double for a buck more. I told her no. She said, "but it is only a dollar..."  I said "no thank you." She said, "But, but.."

loudly: "No."

When you are a food whore like me it is impossible when people are in your face pushing you to eat things you don't want. My husband does this. To everyone. "Do you want more? Was it good; was it greasy, did you like it; was there too much cayenne?; c'mon eat some more... just a little more" are you kidding me? 

"No."

My husband talks about food all day, romances it, makes love to it, watches cooking shows, and then will be talking about my next meal before I finish the last one. He does not understand that this is freaking foreplay for me and I need to get away before I succumb to the seduction and beg for a damn cigarette after one of his fattening dinners. He was in heaven during my chemo because I was in bed and couldn't get away from him. Would I like a double BLT with extra mayo? No. Would I like a mocha shake with the marshmallow topping? No. Perhaps I would like some of my favorite chocolate DQ when he goes out to Lowes for a light bulb? No.

He brings the DQ anyway. It wouldn't be so bad if he ate ice cream, but he doesn't. I'm going to make an appointment with a Food Network attorney for a divorce.

Gahhhh.

as I said...

hungry.

success...

I watched a Woody Allen documentary this morning because everyone is outside and I am not into heat and sun... just comfort. I got to thinking about my own works of art whether it be a novel, a painting or a song I write, and the idea of being honest in it. I've looked for outside validation in my life, and have this odd personality of the Christ and the anti-Christ with regard to my art.

I have this grandiose view of myself but at the same time feel that I am a complete idiot who needs years of therapy, validation from strangers, and medication. I got to thinking after watching Woody. After his Manhatten film debut there was attention - lots of it. Everyone loved it and there were many awards and accolades to follow. Woody hated it. He didn't think it was so honest and shook his head with disgust. His next film was Stardust Memories which everyone despised except Woody. Art is personal. It is not for anyone else but you, your typewriter, your paintbrush or your instrument. If others enjoy it, yay... but if they don't, it is a good thing to let that go. Easier said than done.

I am always asked, "how is your book doing?" I don't have a clue and I don't care. I mean, if it were making gobs of money and I could retire in Capris then perhaps I would give a shit but I am not foolish enough to think I am a real writer any more than I am a real painter. I like expressing myself and (beyond that) if you give me a muse I might just go on for hours with my dog and my bone. Lately my muse is just being alive and breathing which is quite nice after last year's ordeal. People are depressed and need medication to get up in the morning. I just need my muse, a ripe peach for breakfast, and someone to hug.

What is success anyway?

traveling...

Cheesesteaks, Liberty Bell, beach, and family...

The rock is NOT good for my abs...

I go to Pilates on Mondays and Wednesdays. Who needs Spanx when you indulge yourself in this sort of bi-weekly torture. My teacher uses all classical music so I enjoy it even more although it is difficult to concentrate on her instructions for downward dog this or side plank that when I am trying to figure out which movement, sonata or prelude she has chosen. Being a former piano teacher has its annoyances for sure.

I was trying to do this godawful move. Lie on my side. Stack my legs one atop the other. Lift (yes) lift my hips off the ground and hold. Now, take my upper leg and raise it for ten repetitions while doing this. I wanted to cry from the pain.

Then she added this:

I was now far past the agony driving into my adductors and my obliques. This woman had intruded into my morning ritual and included the loss of my mother. This was my mother's favorite piece. By the time it came to 2:12 the tears were rolling down my face. Lucky the lights were dim. 

Ah, the agony and the ecstasy. 

I paint where I want to live. My buildings blow in the wind... kinda like my brain.