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Date archive for: May 2015

Hot for the Dad Bod?

I have bad news for CrossFit fellas, mud runners, and other muscle men: The hottest look on the beach this summer is not the sculpted torso and chiseled thighs of the gym rat.
It’s the Dad Bod.
You heard me. What’s got girls giddy is the plain, pasty, paunchy physique of a man who’s more likely to be dining on leftover chicken fingers and mac ‘n’ cheese than he is to be hoisting kettle bells. (Is that what one does with kettle bells? Does one hoist? Endowed with a Mom Bod, I wouldn’t know.)
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Top 10 Things Mel Brooks Taught Us Last Night

It’s good to be the king. Even at 88.
Mel Brooks, the king of farce, treated UCSB Arts & Lectures’ big donors to an evening of funny stories Tuesday night at the Montecito Country Club during a fundraiser for the organization’s Arts Education program.
A longtime lampooner of sacred cows from Jesus and the Nazis to Robin Hood and the Old West, Brooks is best known for writing and directing Blazing Saddles, Young Frankenstein, and The Producers (both the 1968 movie and the recent Broadway version). He’s one of 12 people in the universe to have won Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony awards.
All manic timing, sparkling eyes and understated delivery, Brooks chuckled at his own bits, spit water as a gag, and cracked wise on everything from the mahi mahi on the menu to his cab-driving Uncle Joe.
Here were the top 10 things we learned:
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Fine, Mom: You Were Right

It’s becoming quite clear to me, as these things do.
You told me it would — that one day I’d understand why you did the things you did when I was a kid.
Remember our clashes over curfews, battles about boyfriends, and disputes over driving? Back then your motivation was opaque to me — not mysterious, just whack. We seemed so wildly different: Me a gangly, new-wave, camo-clad poet. You a petite ex-hippie breadwinner with a Motown jones.
We wanted such different things. For example, I wanted to be with my boyfriend at every moment, and you wanted me to occasionally eat, bathe, sleep …
But the enlightenment you predicted has finally arrived. Having kids now myself, I often find myself walking a mile in your strappy stilettos. And I’ll be honest: My feet hurt.
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