Photo from FoodNetwork.com It’s easy to see why people think you need to be rich in order to be healthy. Whole Foods is more expensive than McDonald’s. Bally’s Total Fitness costs a hell of a lot more than say, sitting on the couch and shoveling potato chips in your mouth.
I have an issue with the gym. Every time I walk into its dry, conditioned air, and see all the people running on their hamster tracks, all I can think is “THIS IS SO FUCKING UNNATURAL. Why are people doing this?” Well, except when I used to go to my
The Wanderlust Festival is hitting New York City on Sunday, June 9, from 1pm-6pm at Hudson River Park’s Pier 63, for a unique celebration that has been bringing yogis and renowned musicians together from coast-to-coast. Catered specifically for the broke-ass yoga enthusiast, this FREE event is sponsored by Health Magazine,
Over the past few years I’ve watched as San Francisco has been pulled out from under us and sold to the highest bidder. And I’m fed up and heartbroken. San Francisco is for everyone, not just the wealthy elite, and this is why I’ve decided to run for mayor....
Quick quiz for my ladies: Your idea of working out most resembles: A) Fergie in – what else – her “Fergalicious” music video B) Hannah jogging – er, attempting to jog – in Girls C) Kristin Wiig and Maya Rudolph’s characters in “Bridesmaids” You probably answered “C” because you’re reading
My Facebook and Twitter feeds are constantly flooded with updates about going to the gym. Part of me feels like being a smart-ass and asking, “If you don’t post about going to the gym, did it not happen?” Personally, while these people are advertising to the world that they’re sweating
“Why yes,” you say, “A free meditation class in Greenpoint is exactly what I was looking for.” If it wasn’t… get to it post-haste. It just might change your life. Maybe you’ve been thrown off going to meditation because the idea of sitting through all the dopey pageantry sounds like
I’m smelling a slight stench coming from the direction of my armpits, and I suddenly realize that it’s not my son’s dirty diaper, or some food gone bad that might be lodged in our couch, it’s my sweatshirt. I’ve worn it five days in a row now. I can’t help