The ultimate cappucino

I had an espresso in Rome the other day that transformed my approach to my daily coffee. The bar happened to have little packets of honey as well as the usual sugar and insecticide, so I decided to give Pooh Bear’s favorite delicacy a whirl. The result was buonissimo despite the mediocre quality of the espresso itself, so I decided to experiment a little on the home front upon my return. I found this yields the ultimate result:

1 Nespresso machine
1 capsule ristretto. That’s the black caps intended only for the serious espresso drinker.
1 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon spun Canadian honey

And here everyone thought I was kidding when I said I was down with Mr. Clooney.

C’e veramente una vita bella

How about "butterballs"

The Washington Times apparently considers this to be news of the Nation/Politics variety:

Labeling a child obese might “run the risk of making them angry, making the family angry,” but it addresses a serious issue head-on, said Dr. Reginald Washington, a Denver pediatrician and co-chairman of an American Academy of Pediatrics obesity task force. “If that same person came into your office and had cancer, or was anemic, or had an ear infection, would we be having the same conversation? There are a thousand reasons why this obesity epidemic is so out of control, and one of them is no one wants to talk about it.”

The diplomatic approach adopted by the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) and used by many doctors avoids the word “obese” because of the stigma. The CDC also calls overweight children “at risk of overweight.”

Personally, I’d find it difficult not to tell the fat little freaks to stop worrying about their self-esteem and stop stuffing their fat little faces before they contract diabetes, but then, I’m reliably informed that I am somewhat insensitive on the issue.

The annoying thing about the fat brigade, junior division is the way in which many of their parents simply refuse to accept responsibility for their children’s excessive weight. It’s reprehensible.

Losing weight isn’t any fun. It’s not supposed to be. Nearly everyone has had to do it at one point or another, but the equation is pretty simple. Unless you burn off more energy than you take in, you won’t lose weight. I wish I could still eat like a stoned pig, drink 14 beers and not gain an ounce, but I’m not 21 anymore so I don’t. The trick is to recognize where your limits are and stick to them.

I know most of the big and beautiful understand this on some level, but then, it’s hard to forget the fatty walking down the stairs and loudly lamenting her inability to lose weight… with a doughnut in either hand. Or the woman at the Dairy Queen who was sitting at a nearby table theorizing about the possibility of her thyroid being overactive while scarfing down a Peanut Buster Parfait, a Banana Split and what looked like a Hot Fudge Brownie Delight.