I put on eight pounds this past winter.

That doesn’t sound like a lot to me—believe me, I’ve done worse—but there are two things I should explain here. One, I say “winter,” but what I mean is “Since mid-February.” I’m averaging a pound a week (or really, two pounds a week during shamrock shake season, and a half a pound a week the other days). The other thing I should explain is that in my family—or specifically, on my mother’s side of the family—eight pounds will quickly turn to sixteen after CVS has one good sale on M&M "pounder" bags. I had to stop this calorie avalanche before it really took hold.

I hung my head in shame as I reached out to the one being who has consistently been my weight-loss advocate even when I threaten to smother her with my pasty arm flaps; my cheerleader even when I’m shouting colorful epithets; the only one who can listen to me liken the taste of cauliflower mashed potatoes to what I imagine Bigfoot’s rancid turds smell like, and still urge me to take another spoonful: my Weight Watchers points tracking app.

I didn’t want to open up the app, you realize. Even though I just said all those nice things about it, I actually kind of hate the Weight Watchers app. But I had no choice. Eight pounds is sixteen pounds.

My first day was okay. I loaded up on fruit and rice cakes, and grilled some chicken for dinner. I stayed within my points. But I was cranky.

Day two was harder. Work was stressful, and I had a ton of editing to do after I got home. I gamely stuffed Popchips in my mouth as I pawed through the Chicago Manual of Style to determine if it was ever acceptable to use a comma splice. I crunched another rice cake as I decided that it was not.

On day three, it hailed. In late April. Hail! Are you kidding? Then my computer crashed, and I lost all of the changes on the document I was editing. I stubbed my toe on an escalator. And a bird pooped on my car window, right in my line of vision. When I tried to clean it off, I discovered that my car was out of wiper fluid, and my wipers left a white smear all over the windshield. I used some of my flex points that night and ate an entire package of stale Peeps. I did not feel better.

The next morning, I woke up to a story rejection email waiting in my inbox. I’d had it. “I quit!” I shouted at my stupid points-tracking app. “Life is too hard for all this exercising and eating healthy nonsense!” But that Weight Watchers, she’s a clever girl. I never said you had to eat healthy, she reminded me gently. Just stay within your points.

This was . . . true. She might have encouraged me to eat more fruits and vegetables, but really, all she’d promised was that if I stayed within my points, I’d lose weight. I’d been the one who made it all about cauliflower and crap.

Day four: the day I discovered I could eat 160 Tootsie Roll Mini Chews in one day, and still lose weight. This dieting thing isn’t so hard after all.

We’ve all heard that trope time and time again, that laughter is, in fact, the best  medicine. I was inclined to take this at face value, until I started to do a little research. Sure, laughter feels good, but is it really the best medicine? Let’s take a look:

1. Evidence that Laughter’s Healing Powers are Vastly Overrated

I could give you a million examples of how laughter is not better than, say, chemotherapy  (Gilda Radner). But that’s too disheartening, even for me. Instead, let’s look at some other things laughter doesn’t do much for:

• Depression. Laughter is supposed to elevate your mood when you’re down. However, this disease in itself pretty much renders even the funniest jokes ineffective. Take this knock-knock joke:
  

                        Funny Person: Knock knock.
                        Depressed Person: Go away.
                        Funny Person: Seriously, c’mon. Knock knock.
                        Depressed Person: Life is pointless, and we’re all going to die someday.
                        Funny Person: You’re right. I think I’ll go hide under the covers now.
                        Score: Depression 1, Laughter 0.

• Stress. This website lists a whole bunch of things that you can do to start laughing and alleviate stress, like go to a funny movie or a comedy club, host a game night with your friends, or read a funny book. I’m stressed because I have no time to do the things I want to, like read. This stress solution is inherently flawed. 
• Heart Disease. Another health bonus of laughter is that it improves the function of blood vessels and helps protect your heart. This is a total lie, which I think is clearly proven in this next section . . .

2. Laughter Has Dangerous Side Effects

According to this article in the New York Times, laughing has some pretty serious side effects that don’t even flash up as a warning when you’re watching a particularly witty rerun of Roseanne. These side effects include:

• Heart failure (you know, when your heart stops pumping blood)
  
• Boerhaave syndrome (spontaneous rupturing of the esophagus)
  
• Cardiac arrhythmia (which can result in heart attack or stroke)
  
• Pilgaard-Dahl syndrome (laughing so hard your lung collapses)
  
• Syncope (passing out, like onto a train track or into a pool of water/broken glass)

Overall, I’d argue that although these side effects are, in fact, potentially lethal, that’s not such a bad way to go. If I get to pick my exit, “she died laughing” makes a fabulous line in any obituary. However, we Longos have never been known to have that kind of spectacular luck. Out of the numerous side effects listed, this is the one troubles me the most:

•  Giggle incontinence

Look it up—it’s a real thing. Laughing so hard you wet your pants. I have no doubt that this is exactly the side effect I’ll have. The treatment for this is to wear diapers, avoid funny situations, and/or to wear dark clothing. A disturbing dark side to laughter, indeed.

3. Case Study: The Poisoning of Wallace Shawn

If you have not seen The Princess Bride, please stop reading this blog post immediately and do so. It’s okay. I’ll wait.

Wow, it took you some time to get back here. Watched it twice, did you? I know. It’s the best movie ever. Except for that one scene. You know, the one that completely disproves the “laughter is the best medicine” theory.

In the Battle of Wits, Vizzini (Wallace Shawn) and the Man in Black (Cary Elwes) drink from glasses of wine, one of which (if the Man in Black hadn’t cheated) contains deadly iocaine powder. This is the result:

Now, Wallace Shawn does everything right here. He switches glasses when the other guy isn’t looking, he stalls, and he insults Socrates. All well played. And after drinking the poison, he does one thing that should, in theory, save his life. He laughs. The outcome? “Ahahaha—” thud.

I think this sums up my point perfectly. Laughter’s fine and all, but when it comes down to it, you’re better off trusting western medicine and not drinking poison.

Disclaimer: None of the above, of course, applies to this blog, which has been known to boost immunity, add joy and zest to life, and induce labor.

I’ve waxed poetic a few times about my favorite actors. But up until now, I haven’t shared my list of actors I can’t stand, mostly because that would be mean. However, I’m short on material this week, so I’ve decided to toss my instincts to not be cruel aside and instead trash some celebrities who have made a lot more money than I have doing something that, while doing it terribly, is still something I've never attempted. So here is my list of people who can't act:

10. Tom Green

Kind of a no-brainer with this guy. He’s not funny,  but he thinks he is, which makes him unfunny and obnoxious.

9. Tia Carrere

I give this woman a lot of credit for going on Dancing With The Stars something like six weeks after giving birth. I really do. But she can't act. I remember watching her in Wayne's World and thinking Huh. I didn't expect this lady to be the worst thing about this turdblossom of a movie.

8. Ryan Phillippe

Does anybody even remember what this vanilla milkshake of an actor has even done, besides marry Reese Witherspoon? (She did eventually realize she could do better and divorced him.) Did you know he was in Gosford Park, Flags of Our Fathers, and The Lincoln Lawyer? No? You didn't remember because he's bland, boring, and unremarkable.

7. Nicholas Cage

I am not over The Wicker Man yet. There are so many things I could've done with those wasted 102 minutes: visited a local garage to see how automobiles are fixed. Written a letter to my congressman about what a good job he's doing (if I knew his name, that is). Clipped my toenails. Something other than sitting through that crapfest. 
Also, he reminds one of my coworkers of someone she doesn't like. Strike two. And strike three, because Wicker Man.

6. Jean Claude Van Damme

I still can't figure out why anyone ever paid to see this guy in a movie. (I should also probably mention here that I don't particularly like movies with a lot of [read: any] martial arts.) I cringe when he opens his mouth. He's not handsome. And in the spirit of full disclosure, I'll admit I can forgive a lot if you're pretty to look at. Jason Statham: can't act, does a lot of fancy fighting in his movies, pretty to look at. I sure do love me some Jason Statham.

You, Mr. Van Damme, are no Jason Statham.

5. Rob Schneider

I hate picking on this guy, because everybody does. Plus, it's not like he has a huge, undeserved ego, like Tom Green. In fact, Tom Green should be higher on my list than this guy, because Green is an incompetent troll who thinks he's awesome. Let me reiterate: he is not. But I don't feel like renumbering the whole list, so just assume Schneider is 10 and Green is 5.
Rob Schneider: seems nice, but makes stupid films.

4. Ashton Kutcher

Honestly, if this guy hadn't married Demi Moore, I would still have no idea who he is. I think he was on some show once, and then he was on another show. He might've been in a movie, too. I don't know. Here's what I do know: he single-handedly caused every woman my age who dates a man even six months younger than her to now be referred to as a "cougar." Thanks a lot, jerk.

3. Emilio Estevez

The powers that be might revoke my "child of the eighties" card for this, but I'll confess, I never understood what the big deal was about Emilio Estevez. He was forgettable in The Outsiders, a total milk dud in St. Elmo's Fire, and the janitor in Breakfast Club turned in a better performance than this guy. The Mighty Ducks may have been the peak of his acting skills. Just terrible.

2. David Arquette

I often feel embarrassed for David Arquette when he shows up in something. He's not funny, his comedic timing is nonexistent, and he acts like idiocy is something to be proud of. How he ever got Courtney Cox to marry him is a mystery to this day. She said she fell in love with him because he was funny. When I read that, I mailed her a copy of Mad magazine with a note telling her to raise her standards.

1. David Caruso
I don’t know why this man irritates me so much, but if you want to see me change from mild-mannered, coffee-sipping farmer’s daughter to crazed, furious, shooting-flames-out-of-my-eye-sockets maniac in 2.3 seconds, change the channel to an old episode of CSI: Miami. I hate this guy’s voice, his face, his mannerisms, and have been known to screech, “He’s standing still too loudly! TURN IT OFF!” shrilly enough to shatter ice cubes. He can’t act, he’s not attractive, and he’s a condescending egomaniac. Did I say I didn’t know why he irritated me? Mystery solved.



There you have it. Agree with me, disagree,  or try to debate me about why martial arts films are great. (Is Jason Statham in it? No? Then no.) Here's what I know: my blog is now done for the week, and I truly hate David Caruso.

We Longos certainly know how to have a good time when it comes to the holidays. Easter, of course, is no exception.

I have vague memories of my mother making a big deal out of Easter when my sister and I were really young. Mom would take us out shopping for new Easter dresses. Kim, always admittedly the more fashionable out of the two of us, would spend hours going through racks of dresses before finally settling on the perfect pink flowery frock. I, who would’ve spent that time sitting in the middle of the racks, hoping to scare the crap out of Kim by grabbing her arm when she reached for an outfit, would then promptly select the exact same outfit as my big sister. Good times.

Mom would dress us up in bonnets and gloves, and make us go to church. Here’s the thing: you never, ever, want to put my sister and me in the same church pew. We will inevitably get the giggles at the most inopportune time, like when the priest is describing the nails being pounded into Jesus’s wrists at the crucifixion. Once we were thrown out of church early, we would then head home, where we wouldn’t bother to change before playing outside. Within minutes, our pretty hats and gloves and new dresses would be splattered with cow manure and mud.

Once Mom gave up on the whole church thing, we really started appreciating Easter more. We’d wake up that morning and go through our baskets, then gorge ourselves on jellybeans and chocolate-covered coconut eggs. (Also important: don’t give a kid one of those pretty eggs made out of sugar and frosting with a diorama of bunnies ice-skating inside. If that kid is me, I’ll eat it.) Two things you should know about my mom before I continue: she likes to be warm, and she knows her chocolate. So our Easter egg hunts, which happened before breakfast, were always indoors (warmer) and consisted of searching for Cadbury Crème Eggs or Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs (quality chocolate).

Over breakfast, my sister and I would be too sluggish and nauseated to move, so our father would regale us with stories about how good rabbit tastes in stews, on toast, or lightly braised and served on a bun. Then he’d wonder aloud how many pounds of meat one could get off the Easter Bunny. Again, good times.

The rest of the holiday was spent sleeping off our sugar highs. Really, what else was there to do? Occasionally we got up to eat more, but we knew instinctively we needed to conserve energy. Because in our house, Easter came with a secondary holiday: The Post-Holiday Easter Candy Sale.

Mom would again get us up early the next day, and we’d dress quickly and head out the door before the stores opened. We’d wait outside for CVS to open, and then we’d hit the sales, hard. There were Peeps, Juju-bunnies, jellybeans, and marshmallow eggs to be had at 50% off or more. It’s also, incidentally, why nobody in my family starts a diet until at least a week after Easter has passed.

Sure, you might think we’re missing the point of the holiday. You would be wrong. We always remember to pray and count our blessings this time of year. Just the other day, my mother sent this text: Just found Cadbury mini-eggs on sale at Walgreens! Thank the Lord! 

See? We're religious.

Happy Easter, and/or Passover, everyone!