Biased research muddies the health harms of sugary drinks, researchers contend
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الاثنين، 31 أكتوبر 2016
Can Facebook Friend Requests Predict Longevity?
Those most sought after as a connection on the social media site tended to live longer, study suggests
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Smartphones, Tablets Keep Kids Buzzing at Bedtime
Children with access to these devices don't get enough sleep, study finds
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Does Good Cholesterol Affect Heart Disease Risk?
Lifestyle appears more important than the HDL number, study suggests
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A Veteran’s Son Goes to Vietnam with Questions About His Past. The Answer He Receives Is Completely Unexpected.
Out the window to my left, palm trees bent in the breeze from the South China Sea; to my right, green fields stretched in the distance. As our tour van headed south on a bumpy road near Nha Trang, I kept reminding myself, This is Vietnam. I even tried superimposing scenes from Platoon and Full Metal Jacket on the landscape, but they wouldn’t stick. Everything was too peaceful.
I had come to Vietnam to solve a mystery: What had happened to my father here? My father, Sgt. Jimmy Godwin of the U.S. Army Special Forces, married my mother in 1968, just before he’d shipped out for Vietnam. When he’d returned, he was “messed up”—that’s what my mother said, though I’d never understood what that meant. She and Jimmy divorced when I was a baby.
After my mom remarried, Jimmy signed papers so that my stepfather—the man I call Dad—could adopt me. I grew up in a loving house, but we never talked much about Jimmy; we didn’t know how.
That left me curious, confused, and even angry at my parents—all three of them—because I wanted the truth about the man who had once been my father and why he had chosen not to be. But at age 23, I needed more than a handful of facts; I felt like I had to have the context to understand them. That’s why I went to Vietnam.
In 1994, I joined a group of volunteers on a goodwill project that was organized by the Friendship Foundation of American Vietnamese, a nonprofit based in Ohio. As our group of twentysomethings explored Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) and the coastal city of Nha Trang, I felt a little like a detective returning to the scene of a crime, only I wasn’t finding any clues. The country seemed to have moved on in the 25 years since my father’s time. My trip there felt like a vacation, complete with lush scenery, amazing food, and friendly people.
The foundation had arranged for us to build a playground in Nha Trang, but soon after we’d arrived, the government withdrew its consent, which was a painful disappointment. As a plan B, our tour organizers set up a visit to a nearby orphanage. I almost stayed at our hotel that day because I worried it would be depressing. Plus, what did I have to offer Vietnamese orphans?
The country seemed to have moved on in the 25 years since my father’s time. My trip there felt like a vacation, complete with lush scenery, amazing food, and friendly people.
About a dozen of us piled into a van to go to the orphanage. On the way there, I thought about Jimmy. By then, he and I had met face-to-face, and we were still trying to figure out what our relationship was or would be. Jimmy hadn’t said much about his time in Vietnam, though I knew he’d come to Nha Trang once between battles and spent an afternoon on the beach.
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Our van eventually pulled up to a cinder block building. A middle-aged Catholic priest emerged and greeted us in English. He summoned the children and assigned each of us our own pint-size tour guide.
Mine was a little boy named Duy, who looked about six. I’m six foot three, and when Duy came up to me, he had to arch his neck like he was looking at a skyscraper. He said something to me in Vietnamese. I smiled awkwardly; I was embarrassed that I didn’t even know how to say “Hi, what’s your name?” I asked the priest to translate.
“He says you are very big.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. I crouched until my eyes were just below the level of Duy’s. “Very small.”
The little boy chuckled. Duy took my hand and led me inside to a large room filled with bunk beds. He pointed to his own, a top bunk with an inch-thick layer of woven straw as a mattress, no blanket or pillow. He seemed to like showing it to me, as if he were proud of it.
“Nice,” I said. I picked Duy up and I sat him on his bed to equalize our heights. I tried to think of what to say or to ask. Would Duy have some sort of bedtime ritual? I wondered. It’s a Catholic orphanage, so would he say prayers? And what would he pray for?
I asked the priest to translate this. As they spoke, I listened for a tone that suggested the priest might be coaching Duy, but I didn’t hear any.
“He does pray,” the priest said, “but in the morning.”
“What do you pray for?”
“Pray for?”
I looked at Duy as I spoke. “What do you ask God to do for you or to give you?”
Duy smiled a little when the question was translated. He paused; it seemed like he was answering this question for the first time.
“He says he prays for his parents who are in heaven. He prays for his sister because he doesn’t know where she is and hopes she will be OK. He prays for God to help him be good that day.” And here the priest said something to Duy that sounded like a slight admonition. “And sometimes he prays for a toy or something like that.”
“Really? Is that all?”
“That’s all he said.”
“He doesn’t pray to be adopted? To go home with a family?”
The priest asked Duy, who answered in a bored-kid voice, as if this weren’t a very interesting subject.
“He said he, of course, would like to have a family to live with, but he knows that most children his age don’t get chosen for a family. And if they do get chosen, often it’s a family that needs someone to work. So he says he likes his life here. ‘This is my family now,’ he said.”
This is my family now.
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I glanced around the room. This place was spare but clean. Most of the kids were smiling. They looked thin, but healthy. Their clothes weren’t new, but they weren’t rags. Two of the boys who weren’t hosting foreigners were goofing around with a ball.
Duy studied me. His expression seemed to say, What do you think, Big Foreign Fella?
I smiled at him as if I had a secret.
He made a face and looked playful. I grabbed him around the waist and planted his belly on my shoulder. Then I wrapped a hand around his calf so he’d know that I wouldn’t let him fall. I carried him outside and spun him around until he laughed.
“He says he prays for his parents who are in heaven. He prays for his sister because he doesn’t know where she is and hopes she will be OK. He prays for God to help him be good that day.”
This is my family now.
I knew that I wasn’t getting a complete picture of Duy’s thoughts or experience. I knew his feelings about his life, his fate, and his place in the world likely were—or might one day be—complicated.
I hoped that he would never wonder if it was his own fault that he’d lost his parents. I hoped he’d never think he was flawed in some mysterious, fundamental way and that their absence was the evidence. And yet, Duy shamed me.
This little boy had gone through so much by the age of six, but he’d just declared that the people at the orphanage were his family. I had questions about my own family that I wanted answered, and someday, I might get those answers, but what right did I have to self-pity? After all, I had been, as the priest had put it, chosen for a family.
The other kids made a circle around us, and they clamored for me to lift them too. I gave each of them a ride on Foreigner Mountain, spinning and spinning until I almost fell over.
I wished that I had a toy to give Duy. Or that I could build him a playground. Instead I offered him turn after turn on my shoulders, more than anyone else, and I also spun him longer than anyone else.
I wanted Duy, in this one little way, to feel chosen.
from Reader's Digest http://ift.tt/2f6nvVg
One of the World’s Most Iconic Ships Sailed Straight Into Hurricane Sandy. Sandy Won.
Lieutenant Wes McIntosh of the U.S. Coast Guard was watching Sunday Night Football with his seven-person flight crew on October 29, 2012. Around 9:30 p.m., his phone rang. It was the Coast Guard command center, alerting him that they’d received a call from the owner of a ship that was floundering in a ferocious storm off the coast of North Carolina. It was taking on water, having generator problems, and requesting assistance. By 11 p.m., McIntosh and crew were airborne in their turboprop plane, heading east.
Locating the ship on radar would be impossible in such rough weather, so McIntosh and his copilot, Mike Myers, pulled on night-vision goggles. The skies were clear for the moment, a full moon fixed above, but directly ahead, McIntosh could see a sharp wall of dark clouds rising from the surface of the water to 7,000 feet.
They approached just above the clouds but were unable to see down to the ocean’s surface. Hoping for visual contact, McIntosh lowered the plane into the storm. The plane lurched and shook violently. Hard rain pelted the windshield. McIntosh wrestled the controls, guiding the plane lower until the clouds shredded and revealed a churning black ocean. They circled, holding at the lowest point they could.
“Anything?” McIntosh asked.
“Yeah,” said Myers. “There’s a pirate ship in the middle of a hurricane.”
HMS Bounty was one of the most recognizable ships anywhere in the world. Built in 1960 for the MGM film Mutiny on the Bounty, it was a scaled-up replica of the original on which Fletcher Christian led the revolt against Captain William Bligh in 1789. The modern Bounty was a classic tall ship. Its three masts rose more than 100 feet, supporting 10,000 square feet of sailcloth and laced with more than two miles of line. It was 120 feet long—30 feet longer than the original—and built of hand-hewn Douglas fir and white oak.
In recent years, however, the ship had fallen into disrepair; it was plagued with dry rot and leaks, and its owner had struggled to keep up with the expensive maintenance. Tired and sagging from 50 years of sailing and dock tours, the ship was now en route from New London, Connecticut, to St. Petersburg, Florida, to entice possible buyers, give dockside tours, and host an event for a nonprofit organization supporting kids with Down syndrome.
The crew of 16 ranged from first-time volunteers to career mariners. Among the most recent to join up was Claudene Christian, 42, a professional singer and a beauty queen from California who claimed to be a descendent of Fletcher Christian himself.
The captain was Robin Walbridge. Soft-spoken and gravel-voiced, he wore wire-rimmed glasses and hearing aids, and bound his flyaway gray hair in a short ponytail. The Bounty’s owner, New York businessman Robert Hansen, had hired Walbridge in 1995, and Walbridge had since helmed hundreds of voyages on the Bounty up and down the Atlantic coast, in all kinds of weather. Walbridge was considered a good sailor, but he also had the reputation for being something of a cowboy. A few weeks prior to setting sail, he’d told an interviewer, “We chase hurricanes … You can get a good ride out of them.”
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Before they left port, Walbridge informed the crew that there was a large storm off the coast. He believed they could safely skirt it, but they’d likely be encountering rough seas along the way. Anyone who wasn’t comfortable with this was free to leave, no questions asked.
A few weeks prior to setting sail, he’d told an interviewer, “We chase hurricanes … You can get a good ride out of them.”
On Thursday, October 25, the Bounty departed with clear skies, light winds, and all 16 crew members on board.
As darkness fell on Sunday evening, the Bounty sailed straight into one of the worst storms ever recorded in the Atlantic. Dubbed Superstorm Sandy, it stretched almost 1,000 miles across, covering an area nearly twice the size of Texas. Out at sea off the coast of North Carolina, winds gusted up to 90 miles per hour. Earlier that day, a gust had ripped the ship’s forecourse, one of its 16 sails, which is crucial for maintaining stability in storms.
As daylight faded, conditions deteriorated. Four feet of water sloshed around the engine room, overloading the pumps. The cabin’s overhead lights flickered until the generators and engines gave out entirely, leaving only the ghostly glow of the emergency lights.
Below decks, Walbridge made his way to the communications room. He moved gingerly; earlier, a powerful wave had thrown him across the cabin into a bolted table, severely injuring his back. He took a seat near the communications console with Doug Faunt, 66, a volunteer who worked as the ship’s electrician. The storm had rendered their cell and satellite phones useless. Walbridge and Faunt were attempting to e-mail the Coast Guard to alert it to the grim situation.
Walbridge had instructed anyone who wasn’t on watch or tending to a crisis to hunker down and, if possible, try to rest. It was going to be a long night. Another crew member, Adam Prokosh, 27, had also been injured, breaking three ribs, separating his shoulder, and suffering trauma to his head and back when the ship was rolled by a wave. Several other people were severely seasick. In the dim communications room, Walbridge and Faunt hunched over a makeshift transmitter, tapping out an e-mail message with their coordinates, praying it would reach someone on shore.
In the skies above, McIntosh banked hard, looking down at a sight unlike anything he’d ever seen. Below was the Bounty’s hulking black shadow, its giant masts listing at 45 degrees. From the aircraft, the mission system officer radioed down on the emergency channel.
The response was instantaneous: “This is HMS Bounty. We read you loud and clear!” It was John Svendsen, 41, the first mate. He explained that the Bounty was still taking on water at the rate of a foot an hour, but he felt they could hang on until daylight.
McIntosh had hoped to drop backup pumps to the vessel, but conditions were too dangerous to get close enough. His flight crew had been taking a severe beating too. Several were airsick.
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As the early hours of Monday morning dragged on, Walbridge positioned himself at the Bounty’s helm, leaving Svendsen to communicate with the Coast Guard plane. Svendsen told McIntosh that they were planning an evacuation at daybreak. Around 3 a.m., Walbridge and Svendsen directed the crew members to the stern and briefed them on the plan.
“No one panicked,” Dan Cleveland, the third mate, recalled later. “The mood was calm, professional. I was really impressed.”
For the next hour, the crew members tended to tasks—gathering their “Gumby suits” (bright red neoprene survival suits) and assembling supplies for the life rafts—or tried to find a place to rest, survival suits at the ready. Claudene Christian took care of the injured Adam Prokosh, helping him move to the high side of the ship.
By 4 a.m., Walbridge told the crew to put on the suits. They would depart from the rear of the ship at first light. The water was coming in faster, at around two feet per hour, and the bow was now submerged. It was too rough to stand up on deck, so the crew crawled along the boards on their hands and knees. Those who didn’t have a particular task preparing supplies simply clung to fixed objects. Doug Faunt wedged himself against the deck rail firmly enough that he briefly dozed off.
Around 4:30 that morning, the Bounty was broadsided by a massive wave that rolled it a full 90 degrees. A few people screamed. Several crew members were tossed through the air and into the sea. Some slid across the soaked deck, hitting the low rail and toppling into the water. Others, fearing the ship was capsizing completely, jumped from their perches into the ocean. The Bounty now lay on its side, masts in the water, surrounded by a web of tangled rigging.
John Svendsen was near the radio and grabbed the handset. “We’re abandoning ship!” he shouted into the mic. “We’re abandoning ship now!”
The Bounty now lay on its side, masts in the water, surrounded by a web of tangled rigging.
The urgent message crackled over the intercom on board the Coast Guard plane, still circling above. The plane’s radio operator repeatedly called back but received no reply. McIntosh flew down again toward the water. He could see the Bounty foundering and lights in the water: the strobes attached to the survival suits.
The flight crew called sector command, informing them that the Bounty’s crew had abandoned the sinking ship.
McIntosh circled again, though the plane was running urgently low on fuel. Despite their battered, airsick condition, the crew members, clipped into safety harnesses, opened the rear door and dropped two rafts down into the hammering wind. They could only hope they would land close enough to the ship to be of use.
No sooner had they deployed the rafts than the aircraft’s fuel light flashed on the dash, indicating they had to head back to base right away. McIntosh veered away from the ship while his radio operator continued to try to hail the Bounty. There was no response.
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Treading in frothing water, John Svendsen floated amid the wreckage next to the ship. The Bounty was lost, and he needed to get away from the sinking carcass as fast as possible.
The water surrounding the ship was now a deadly mess of rigging, loose boards, and other detritus. With each wave pulse, the masts would lurch back up to 45 degrees. Then they would crash back into the water, sink under the surface, and repeat the cycle.
In the chaos, deckhand Josh Scornavacchi, 28, grabbed hold of a mast as it was rising. As he was carried above the water, he heard a voice tell him to jump, and he did. Where the voice came from, he’s not sure. His crewmates don’t remember calling out to him, but he’s certain the move saved his life.
The entire crew was now in the water, swimming and thrashing amid the huge swells and breaking waves. As the ship slowly sank, everything around it was pulled down, too, so the only safe course was to try to get away from the wreck. The emergency suits made every maneuver difficult. Water leaked inside and filled the boots, weighing them down. Dan Cleveland tried to grab a raft that was floating past him, but he couldn’t reach it. The gloves built in to the suits had no grip, so the safety line attached to the raft slid right through his palm.
Not far away, second mate Matt Sanders, 37, clung to a wooden grate with six other survivors. One of the Coast Guard rafts drifted nearby, but they couldn’t catch it. Soon, however, they found a life raft canister and inflated it. It looked like a large kiddie pool with a tent over it. They clambered inside, pushing and pulling one another till they were all aboard.
Six more crew members sat inside a second raft. Meanwhile, Svendsen was drifting out to sea, clinging to a floating signal beacon. Later, he would credit Walbridge for saving his life; it had been the captain’s idea to pack the buoys as standard equipment. But where was Walbridge himself? And where was Claudene Christian, last seen on deck as the ship tipped into the sea?
Dawn’s light filtered into the eastern sky as four Coast Guard helicopters arrived on the scene. Rescue swimmer Randy Haba was lowered from a hovering chopper into the towering waves. After a short swim, he reached Svendsen, who had now drifted a half mile from the wreckage. The first mate was battered and exhausted; he’d smashed his right hand on the ship, rendering it useless. He had also involuntarily gulped down a dangerous amount of seawater polluted with diesel fuel.
Haba slung Svendsen into a harness and got him safely on board one chopper. Then the rescue crew moved to the first raft, the one containing Sanders and company. The Bounty survivors had heard the rotors above and realized help was at hand. But it was still a shock when Haba’s head popped through the raft door. “I bet you guys are ready to get out of here,” said the swimmer, flashing a smile.
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As Haba worked with the first raft, a second rescue swimmer, Dan Todd, helped survivors from the other raft board a second helicopter. It was dicey work. At one point, Haba got smacked hard enough by a breaking wave that his goggles and snorkel were ripped away.
In all, 14 survivors—Adam Prokosh, Doug Faunt, John Jones, Jessica Black, Mark Warner, Josh Scornavacchi, Chris Barksdale, Jessica Hewitt, Laura Groves, Drew Salapatek, Anna Sprague, Dan Cleveland, Matt Sanders, and John Svendsen, ranging in age from 20 to 66, staggered off the choppers onto the tarmac at the Elizabeth City, North Carolina, air base—shaken but alive. A scrum of reporters waited for them, along with some bad news: Another rescue crew had found Claudene Christian, unconscious, floating about nine miles away from the ship. Despite heroic efforts to revive her, she didn’t survive.
Sandy had battered towns from Maine to Florida, causing 147 deaths and widespread flooding. During the next three days, after the waters calmed, the search continued for Walbridge. Coast Guard personnel covered roughly 1,500 square nautical miles, but no sign of the captain was ever found.
“Losing two people was tough, but when we saw the survivors getting out of the helicopter on TV, we were overjoyed,” recalls Wes McIntosh. “When we had to leave the Bounty that morning, we didn’t know if anyone had survived. And even though we didn’t meet any of the crew personally, you go through something like that together, and it feels like they’re family. We were out there with them that night for a long time.”
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One Awful Hair Salon Experience Made This Man Embrace His Graying Hair
It was supposed to be our secret. My hairdresser claimed to possess a special elixir that could subtly, naturally, almost undetectably “blend away” gray hair, which, at 45, I had a touch of. Sitting before the mirror in her chair, uncertain whether to start the masquerade, I examined my head in a way I shied away from when I was alone at home without support. I looked at myself from angles I wasn’t used to, discovering that the gray was more extensive than I’d been willing to admit.
Instead of threading its way between the darker hairs, it had consumed whole sectors of my head, especially on the sides and in the back. It was advancing the way frost does, or mold.
“I suggest we leave some in,” my hairdresser said. “Just enough to make you look distinguished.” I nodded, but that last word did not sit well with me. It sounded exactly like what it was: another way of saying “old.”
Every month for seven years, this conversation, or some version of it, was repeated. The world moved along, the seasons changed, but my hair stayed the same or approximately the same. Toward the end of each color cycle, my natural color—or lack of it—would reassert itself, a bit more conspicuously each time, forcing me deeper and deeper into fraudulence.
My girlfriend at the time, now my wife, began to argue—mildly at first but increasingly emphatically—that gray hair looked terrific on men my age. For evidence, she pointed to various luminaries who looked terrific no matter what. George Clooney. Anderson Cooper. They were the silver all-stars, and I hated them. I hated them not for their age-defying male beauty but for their ability to accept themselves.
In the short story “The Mask” by French writer Guy de Maupassant, a rakish man about town who loves the nightlife collapses at a dance. While attempting to revive him, a doctor notices that his patient is wearing a lifelike youthful mask. The doctor cuts it off with scissors, revealing the man’s white hair and wrinkled face.
I’d read this story when I was young, along with similar tales of postponed decrepitude such as The Picture of Dorian Gray. Their gloomy common message seemed to be that when it comes to signs of aging, you can run but you cannot hide—and that the longer you attempt to run, the worse the final reckoning will be.
My hairdresser seemed to disagree: Her faith in modern products was that strong. And so was mine, until six months ago, when my hairdresser tried a stronger potion, convinced that the old one would no longer suffice.
The results were disastrous. Denying that your hair is gray gets easier, but denying that it’s green is difficult. I managed the feat anyway, temporarily. The bathroom mirror told me something was wrong, which I decided was its—the mirror’s—fault.
I avoided it.
What I couldn’t avoid was the mirror in the makeup room of a late-night TV show I appeared on. My hair had become the color of an Army uniform. The makeup woman said nothing. She only frowned, but my teenage daughter was not so kind. “Your hair is all weird,” she said one afternoon, in the pitiless light of 4 p.m.
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My wife broke her diplomatic silence then. “It’s green,” she said. “And not a subtle green.” As if there could be such a thing. I’d hoped there was.
The process of coming out as a gray was not, in fact, a process but an event, a little like a first weigh-in at a diet clinic after a decade spent eating chili cheeseburgers. While walking the streets one moody evening, I decided to stop at a beauty shop on a random block in downtown Missoula, Montana, where I was teaching. I walked into the shop and stood beside the chair of a gray-haired cosmetician with a pompadour. I let my head tell the story; I didn’t speak.
He showed me with a gesture to a sofa by the men’s room, where I sat for an hour, awaiting emergency treatment. When the time came, I said, “Don’t try to save it. Shave it.”
Day by day and week by week, my new old hair grew in and grew longer, obliging me to confront, with awful clarity, a general grayness that startled even me. Time had accelerated under the mask, just as the great writers had said it would. Worse, I began to detect in those around me changes in how they viewed me, treated me. My students in the graduate-school writing program at the University of Montana asked me about authors of 40 years ago as though I might have known them personally. My wife ran her fingers through my hair more often, almost as though she were checking if it would stay on.
One morning, my teenage daughter asked me to change a black T-shirt that I’d obtained at a rock concert that month for a light blue oxford button-down she had spied hanging in my closet. Grumpily, beaten down, I put it on. “That looks a lot more appropriate,” she said.
The keenest humiliation of all, the one that at last compelled me to accept myself, occurred at a New York City sandwich shop. After taking my order, one of the girls behind the counter asked if she could ask me something. Being asked if you’re willing to be asked a thing is always a bad sign; I instantly stiffened.
“What?” I grunted.
The girl, who appeared to be 18 or so, followed with something like: “It’s not that I think you look old or anything, but when was doo-wop? Do you remember? Doo-wop music? When was that? The ’60s? The ’50s?” It just got worse. “The ’40s?”
“Late ’50s, early ’60s,” I said coolly, wondering if I was being paranoid. Did the girl really think that I’d been on the scene then, or did she merely find me professorial, a man who appeared to be rich in general knowledge?
“That must have been so cool,” she said. “Walking around hearing singing on all the corners!”
I’ve grown into my gray hair since then. I’ve had to. The celebrity “silver foxes” (to use my wife’s term) don’t irritate me as profoundly as they used to. On my good days, I even count myself as one of them, convinced that my color shift has revealed in me a certain mischievous élan that was veiled before. When asked by my juniors about the distant past—about doo-wop and the like or whether I ever met Flannery O’Connor—I reply with an overemphatic cheerfulness, as though the questions are patently absurd but I am too seasoned and comfortable with myself to take offense, at anything.
The hard part is when I’m alone, out on the street, and glimpse a male stranger who looks fully as old as I once pretended not to be. Is that how I appear to others now? I try not to think about it. I let it go.
I let my old hairdresser go too. I avoid her now—I still can’t face her. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been seeing other scissors, or perhaps it’s because I don’t want to embarrass her. In the highest tradition of her profession, she attempted to do the impossible and failed.
But she’s young. She’ll get over it. I won’t even try.
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10 Grocery Sales You Didn’t Know to Look for Between Thanksgiving and Christmas
You'll want to take advantage of these seasonal markdowns.
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6 Black Friday Deals That Usually Aren’t As Good As They Seem
Retailers have savvy tricks for making you think you’re saving money, but you’re better off passing up these Black Friday sales.
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Can You Guess the Astounding Thing These Vietnamese Workers Are Doing in This Photo?
Factory workers wearing traditional leaf hats mend fishing nets in the coastal city of Bac Liêu, Vietnam. The workers knit speedily, says photographer Ly Hoang Long, and employ tiny needles to weave nets tight enough to catch the various species of shrimp, fish, and crabs that keep the local economy afloat. As they work, heaps of netting mound behind them, like the waves in which they’ll soon be deployed.
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15 Classic Thanksgiving Foods, Ranked From Best to Worst for Your Weight
Certain Thanksgiving staples are far more sinful than others. Here, the healthiest Thanksgiving foods to indulge, and other dishes to eat in moderation.
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Opioid Overdoses Up Nearly 200% Among Kids, Teens
Younger children 'eating them like candy,' while teens overdose while trying to get high, researcher says
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Pueblo, Colorado, May Push Back on Legal Pot
The marijuana industry says legalized recreational pot has been good for Colorado's economy, but in the town of Pueblo, some worry about how it affects teens and overall public health.
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7 Tips for Emotionally Coping with the Loss of Your Dog
When Tom Buttaccio met Seven, she was a one-year-old, hazel-eyed beagle with severe separation anxiety. Her owners surrendered her to a shelter because...
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1st Zika Microcephaly Baby Born in Puerto Rico
1st Zika Microcephaly Baby Born in Puerto Rico
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7 Post-Workout Moves to Get Fit Faster
Want to optimize your recovery and propel your future workouts to the next level? Make these post-workout practices a regular part of your regimen.
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10 Caring Ways to Support a Coworker Who Has Breast Cancer
Never assume a coworker battling cancer wants to minimize her workflow.
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3 Recipes for Apple-Picking Season
Go from sweet to sensational with these apple recipes.
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Pet Cancer: Can You Spot the Signs?
Do you know the signs of cancer in your pets?
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The Most Iconic Movie Set in Every State
Which film made the list from yours?
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Why Handwriting Matters for Kids
Pencils, paper, and penmanship may be good for growing brains.
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Obamacare 2017: A Peek Behind the Numbers
Predictions on price hikes and enrollment figures
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Obamacare 2017: Higher Prices, Fewer Choices
Federal tax subsidies can ease the impact of premium increases, but consumers must shop wisely, analysts say
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Clean Home May Help Keep Kids' Asthma in Check
Controlling allergens, household pollutants can reduce need for medication, pediatricians' group says
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Nearly Two-Thirds of Smokers Also Use E-Cigs: CDC
Survey also found 40 percent of young people using the devices were never smokers
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Breast Reconstruction Worthwhile for Older Women
They had no greater risk of complications, benefited as much as younger breast cancer patients
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The Best Shampoo for Every Hair Type
If your hair is oily, a volumizing shampoo can make a huge difference, according to Edward Tricomi, Master Stylist and Co-Founder of Warren-Tricomi...
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Are You a Pushover? 9 Ways to Stand Up For Yourself
Being a pushover can have a negative effect on your own life. Here’s how to stand up for yourself.
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15 Impressive Words You Can Learn from Disney Songs
If you say them loud enough, you'll always sound precocious!
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Here Are 12 Things Dermatologists Do in the Winter that You Don’t
Frigid temps and whipping winds may sound like a prescription for itchy, dry, cracked skin. But winter doesn’t have to be the season of your skin’s discontent. Just take this easy-to-follow advice from top dermatologists and your dermis will look great no matter what the calendar says.
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23 Eye-Opening Things Experts Wish You Knew About Domestic Violence
One in four women experience some form of physical, emotional, sexual, or financial domestic violence each year in the United States. Three professionals debunk myths about domestic abuse and explain the best course of action to get out of abusive relationships.
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12 Foods You Can Eat a Lot of Without Getting Fat
One piece of advice often given to dieters is to eat until you reach satiety — that is, until you feel full. The problem is that different foods can have vastly different effects on hunger and satiety. For example, 200 calories of chicken breast may make you feel full, but it could take 500 calories […] The article "12 Foods You Can Eat a Lot of Without Getting Fat" appeared first on AuthorityNutrition.com
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10 Words That Mean Very Different Things in England and America
In the U.S. a bird is, well, an animal with feathers that tweets. In England, however, a bird is often used to describe a young female, similar to the...
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How to Freshen Up Post-Workout When You Can’t Shower
Pre-workout, pull your hair up into a high bun, pony, or braid—using a stretchy elastic. This will keep hair off your neck, helping you stay cool and...
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7 Skincare Rules Everyone With Freckles Should Know
Freckles are actually a sign of skin damage, according to board certified dermatologist, Dr. Jessie Cheung and certain people are more susceptible to...
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الأحد، 30 أكتوبر 2016
9 Benefits of Maca Root (and potential side effects)
The maca plant has exploded in popularity in recent years. It’s actually a plant native to Peru, and is commonly available in powder form or as a supplement. Maca root has traditionally been used to enhance fertility and sex drive. It’s also claimed to improve energy and stamina. What Is Maca? The maca plant, known […] The article "9 Benefits of Maca Root (and potential side effects)" appeared first on AuthorityNutrition.com
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السبت، 29 أكتوبر 2016
What Are the Best Substitutes for Butter?
Butter is a common spread and baking ingredient. Yet despite its popularity, some people avoid butter for various reasons. Fortunately, there are plenty of ways to enjoy foods without it. This article explores the various ingredients that can be used as butter alternatives. Reasons Why You Might Need to Replace Butter There are a few […] The article "What Are the Best Substitutes for Butter?" appeared first on AuthorityNutrition.com
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الجمعة، 28 أكتوبر 2016
17 Extraordinary Stories of Generosity from Ordinary People
Last year, Mathew Flores, a 12-year-old from Sandy, Utah, approached postal worker Ron Lynch and asked if he had any extra advertisements or random newsletters. The boy explained that he loved to read but couldn’t afford books or even the bus fare to the library, so he would take anything the mailman had. Lynch was floored. “He didn’t want electronics; he didn’t want to sit in front of the TV playing games all day. The kid just wanted to read,” Lynch told deseretnews.com. Lynch asked his Facebook friends for reading material. Soon, Flores was getting books from all over the world—the United States, England, and even India. For his part, Flores said that he plans to read all the books, then share them with other book-starved kids.
You Don’t Learn This in College
When police found Fred Barley, 19, living in a tent on the campus of Gordon State College in Barnesville, Georgia, they were prepared to evict him. Then they heard his story. Barley had ridden six hours from Conyers, Georgia, on his little brother’s bike, carrying all his possessions—a duffel bag, a tent, two gallons of water, and a box of cereal—in order to enroll for his second semester at the school as a biology major. He’d arrived early to look for a job, but no luck. “I’m like, ‘Man, this is crazy,’” Officer Richard Carreker told ABC New York. Moved by Barley’s plight, Carreker and his partner put Barley up at a motel on their own dime. Word spread, and soon people donated clothes, school supplies, funds to cover the rest of his motel stay—he was even given a job at a pizzeria. And then there was Casey Blaney of Barnesville, who started a GoFundMe page for Barley after spending time with him. “I thought, Geez, this kid just rode a 20-inch little boy’s bike six hours in 100-degree weather. He’s determined,” she wrote on her Facebook page. The fund reached $184,000, all of which is going into an educational trust for Barley.
LouAnn’s Last Flight
For 34 years, LouAnn Alexander worked as a flight attendant. But at the age of 58, she received a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. Soon, the vivacious mother of two and grandmother-to-be was making plans for hospice care. Her older brother Rex Ridenoure was flying to see Alexander when he asked the flight attendant—an old colleague of Alexander’s, as it turned out—if he could speak to the passengers. He talked about his sister, even passed his phone around the plane so they could see photos of her. He then handed out napkins and asked if they’d write a little something for Alexander. Ninety-six passengers responded. Some drew pictures. One man and his seatmate created flowers out of napkins and swizzle sticks. But mostly, there were warm words: “Your brother made me love you, and I don’t even know you.” And “My favorite quote from when I had two brain tumors: ‘You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.’” Alexander died in April of this year, but Ridenoure never forgot the compassion shown that day. “I’m just amazed that given the opportunity, even total strangers will reach out and show a lot of empathy and concern,” he said.
Source: Arizona Republic
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The Donor
Brenda Jones, a 69-year-old great-grandmother, had spent a long year on the donor list waiting to receive a liver. Then, on July 18, a hospital in North Texas called—they had a viable liver for her. Meanwhile, 23-year-old Abigail Flores also needed a liver. Her situation was more urgent than Jones’s. Without a transplant, doctors feared Flores had maybe one more day to live. So they asked Jones to give up her spot so that Flores could get the precious organ. Jones agreed. “In my heart, I wouldn’t have been able to live with the liver if I had let this little girl die,” she told WFAA. Jones was placed back at the top of the donor list and got a new liver days later.
Unflagging Love
In August, Cari and Lauri Ryding came home to find their rainbow flag had been stolen and their house egged. Antihomosexual vandalism wasn’t at all what they expected in their close-knit Natick, Massachusetts, neighborhood. As it turned out, it also wasn’t what their neighbors expected. “We said, ‘Why don’t we all have the flags? They can’t take them from all of us,’” Denis Gaughan told the Boston Globe. Within days, the rainbow flag—the symbol of gay pride—was flying in solidarity with the Rydings on over 40 other homes in this family-friendly area. “One person’s act of fear and maliciousness created such a powerful statement of love,” said Lauri. “Love wins. We win.”
An Anniversary She’ll Never Forget
May 7, 2016, was to have been Yiru Sun’s wedding day. But two months earlier, Sun, a New York City insurance executive, called it off after refusing to sign a prenuptial agreement. Trouble was, she’d put down a nonrefundable deposit on a luxury hall. So, working with nonprofits, she threw a pre-Mother’s Day luncheon for 60 underprivileged kids and their families, none of whom she’d ever met. Sun, outfitted in her wedding dress, mingled and watched kids eat ice pops and have their faces painted. “I cannot be the princess of my wedding day,” she told the New York Post, “but I can give the kids a fairy tale.”
Splitting the Check
Americans donate approximately 2 percent of their disposable income to charity. Then there are Julia Wise and Jeff Kauffman. Since 2008, the couple, now 31 and 30, respectively, have donated half their income to charity, a total of $585,000. “We have what we need, so it makes sense to share with people,” Wise told today.com. Wise, a social worker, and Kauffman, a computer programmer, plan on passing the philanthropy bug to their daughters, two-year-old Lily and six-month-old Anna. “We hope [they’ll] grow up thinking this is a normal part of life,” Wise said.
The Getaway
There was a jailbreak in Parker County, Texas, in June, and a correctional officer is alive because of it. Inmates were awaiting court appearances in a holding cell when the officer watching over them collapsed. The inmates called out for help. When none appeared, they used their collective weight to break down the cell door. Rather than making a run for it, they went to the officer’s aid, still yelling for help. One even tried the officer’s radio. Eventually, guards heard the commotion and came in. After placing the inmates back in their cell, CPR was performed on the stricken officer, saving his life. “It never crossed my mind not to help, whether he’s got a gun or a badge,” inmate Nick Kelton told WFAA. “If he falls down, I’m gonna help.”
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Oh, Baby!
Rebekka Garvison could feel the passengers’ eyes rolling as she walked toward her seat carrying her newborn, Rylee. They were flying from Kalamazoo, Michigan, to Fort Rucker, Alabama, where Rebekka’s husband was stationed. Minutes into the flight, Rylee wailed. A nearby couple glared, so Rebekka moved. Rylee was still crying when their seatmate, Nyfesha Miller, asked if she could try holding her. Rylee quickly fell asleep in Miller’s arms and stayed that way throughout the flight. “Nyfesha Miller, you will never understand how happy this act of kindness has made my family,” Rebekka wrote on Facebook. “You could’ve just been irritated like everyone else, but you held Rylee the entire flight and let me get some rest and peace of mind.”
Source: CBS News
A World Away, and Yet So Close
Nigeria is a long way from the Baltimore suburb of Bel Air. Which is why Felicia Ikpum hadn’t seen her son Mike Tersea for four years, ever since he’d left Nigeria on a basketball scholarship to John Carroll School. But with his graduation from John Carroll looming, Tersea’s teachers and classmates thought his mother should be at the ceremony. “We wanted to do something valuable for one of our classmates,” Joe Kyburz, the senior-class president, told the Baltimore Sun. Knowing Ikpum couldn’t afford the plane ticket or hotel, the school raised $1,763 to bring her over. Nigeria can be a dangerous place, and Ikpum traveled 12 hours through terrorist-held land to make the flight. What was her reaction when she laid eyes on her son after four years? “I screamed, I shouted!”
Black and White And Blue
Prayer broke out all over this summer—Walmart aisles, gas stations, roadsides. In a Columbus, Georgia, Walmart, an African American man walked up to a white police officer, and within seconds, the two were holding hands with heads bowed in prayer. In Kentucky, a homeless man and a cop were photographed in a similar position. “They stood this way for about 30 seconds,” said the woman who posted the photograph. In Mississippi, Deputy Sheriff Josh Harmon posted on Facebook: “Had one of the most amazing experiences of my life. [An elderly black woman] comes up to me and says, ‘Your life matters. Can I pray with you?’ And we prayed. And people joined in. They were black, white together. There was no hate. It was just praying.”
Source: goodnewsnetwork.org
Flower Power
When my husband was hospitalized for almost a year, my house was left to fend for itself. One day, I came home from another long day by my husband’s bedside to discover our flower boxes brimming with beautiful flowers. A neighbor did this for me. She wanted me to have something nice to look at when I came home.
Ruth Bilotta, Churchville, Pennsylvania
Paying It Forward—Literally
Thirty years ago, my world almost fell apart. I had surgery, was fired, and was informed by the IRS that my employer had not paid employment taxes. After a few weeks, I saw a flyer about a Japanese festival. Although a physical and emotional wreck, I decided to go. There, I met a Japanese gentleman with whom I chatted for hours. A few months later, I came home to find a bouquet of flowers and a letter at my door. It was from that same friend. Inside the letter was a check for $10,000 to help me through my rough patch. Sixteen year later, I met a family that had been evicted from their home and needed $5,000 to close the escrow on a new house. Without hesitation, I handed them a check for the full amount. They call me their angel, but I remind them that I, too, once had an angel.
Hassmik Mahdessian, Glendale, California
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Pro Bono Gardening
I am a widow who suffers from allergies and mobility problems, and I don’t have the luxury of having family nearby. Thankfully, I have a kind teenager to do my yard work. One evening, I asked if he’d mind doing some extra work around the house. When I tried to tip him afterward, he refused. “You’re going to spoil me,” I said. Kyle answered, “Somebody needs to.”
Marjorie Ann Smith, Westfield, Indiana
The Heavenly Job Reference
I used to work as a nurse’s aide in a hospital, where I befriended an elderly patient. We shared stories and jokes—I even revealed to her my lifelong dream of being an illustrator. Once, after I told her about my sorrowfully tiny apartment and cheap furniture, she said, “Maybe one day a good leprechaun will come and help you.” Soon after, she passed away. A few days later, there was a knock on my door. It was her son with a truckload of furniture for me. It had belonged to his mother, and she wanted me to have it. And then he handed me this note: “Betty, I promise to put in a good word for you in Heaven so you can get the job you’ve always wanted.” Three months later, I got an illustrating job. My friend had kept her promise.
Betty Tenney, Sterling Heights, Michigan
Sharing in the Rain
I was running through the streets of New York, soaking wet thanks to a sudden storm, when I heard a voice: “Do you need an umbrella?” It was a woman standing in the doorway of a hotel. She grabbed an umbrella and handed it to me, saying, “Now you have at least one more reason to believe there’s humanity in this world.” Continuing on my way, I was now not only protected by an umbrella but also by the kindness that shows up now and then in the world.
Raimo Moysa, North Salem, New York
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After Her Father Committed Suicide, These Strangers Stopped Everything to Comfort Her.
Dear Strangers,
I remember you. Eighteen months ago, when my cell phone rang, you were walking into Whole Foods prepared to do your grocery shopping, just as I had been only minutes before you. But I had already abandoned my cart full of groceries in the entryway. My brother was on the other end of the line telling me my father had taken his own life early that morning.
I started to cry and scream as my whole body trembled. I fell to the floor, my knees buckling under the weight of what I had just learned. You could have kept on walking, ignoring my cries, but you didn’t. You could have simply stopped and stared at my primal display of pain, but you didn’t. Instead, you surrounded me as I yelled through my sobs, “My father killed himself. He’s dead.”
I remember one of you asked for my phone and whom you should call. What was my password? You needed my husband’s name as you searched through my contacts. I remember that I could hear your words as you tried to reach my husband for me, leaving an urgent message for him to call me. I recall hearing you discuss among yourselves who would drive me home in my car and who would follow that person back to the store. You didn’t even know one another, but it didn’t matter. You encountered me, a stranger, in the worst moment of my life, and you coalesced around me with common purpose—to help.
In my fog, I told you that I had a friend who worked at Whole Foods, and one of you brought her to me. And I even recall as I sat with her, one of you sent over a gift card to Whole Foods; though you didn’t know me, you wanted to let me know that you would be thinking of me. That gift card helped to feed my family when the idea of cooking was so far beyond my emotional reach.
I never saw you after that. But I know this to be true: Because you reached out to help, you offered a ray of light in the bleakest moment I’ve ever endured. You may not remember it. You may not remember me. But I will never, ever forget you.
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Nearly 3% of U.S. Adults Have Weakened Immunity
Advances in treating HIV and autoimmune diseases are keeping more patients alive
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Make Shots Less Painful for Your Baby
Tips to soothe your little one and ease your stress during vaccinations.
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Acne Gives Up Secret That Points to New Treatments
Bacteria on skin sometimes release fatty acids that trigger inflammation, researchers report
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More Than Willpower: How I Live Well With ADHD
A WebMD reader shares how medication and a strong support system lead to her success.
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Keep Your Lows From Keeping You Down
Because bipolar depression can resemble other conditions, see your doctor or mental health professional to get a correct diagnosis.
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Heart-Wrenching: This Mother Adopts Terminally Ill Babies So They Don’t Have to Die Alone
Cori Salchert of Sheboygan, Wisconsin, sits on a hospital bed parked in the middle of her living room stroking the peach fuzz on top of her newly adopted son’s head. One-year-old Charlie is at ease in his mother’s arms, drifting off to the hum of his ventilator. His mother adopted him knowing that there was a good chance he would not live long.
Serving as foster and adoptive parents did not seem feasible for Cori and her husband, Mark, a few years ago. Both worked, and they already had eight biological children. But Cori had a passion for helping families through difficult times. As a registered nurse and a perinatal bereavement specialist, she helped families cope with the loss of a pregnancy or a newborn child. If parents were too overwhelmed with emotion to hold their sick baby, Cori would cradle the child so “no one had to die alone.”
Such times made Cori think, Wow, I would really like to take those kiddos and care for them. About five years ago, Cori was struck with an autoimmune disorder. The illness left her without a job and feeling hopeless. But it did open up the time for Cori to connect with Children’s Hospital of Wisconsin’s treatment foster-care program and foster hospice infants. Here’s Cori’s story in her own words:
In August of 2012, we received a call from the hospital asking if we would take in a two-week-old baby girl who was nameless and had no one to care for her. The baby was born without the right or left hemisphere of her brain, and doctors said there was no hope for her. She was in a vegetative state—unable to see or hear and responding only to painful stimuli.
She could have died in the hospital, wrapped in a blanket and set to the side because she was being sustained with a feeding pump. But we brought this beautiful baby home to live, and live she did.
Emmalynn lived more in 50 days than a number of folks do in a lifetime. She had not had a family, and now she was suddenly the youngest sibling of nine. We held her constantly and took her everywhere with us.
There came an evening when I knew Emmalynn was beginning to fade. The whole family was home and got to hold her and kiss her. My husband tucked her close with her little head under his chin and sang to her. Eventually, most of the family began to drift off and head to bed, but my daughter Charity and I stayed awake with her.
I was snuggling Emmalynn into my furry, warm bathrobe, holding her on my chest and singing “Jesus Loves Me” to her, when it occurred to me that I had not heard her breathe for a few minutes. I leaned her back and saw that this beautiful creature was gone. She’d left this world hearing my heartbeat. She didn’t suffer, she wasn’t in pain, and she most certainly wasn’t alone.
Two years later, we took in four-month-old Charlie. Charlie has a life-limiting diagnosis but is not necessarily considered terminal. However, children with this type of brain damage typically die by age two. Charlie is already on life support and has been resuscitated at least ten times in the past year. He now has an altered plan of care, and should he code again, we will not resort to doing compressions and using a defibrillator—this time, we will let him go.
As in Emmalynn’s case, we do everything we can to love Charlie, and we take him on adventures with us everywhere we can.
What a gift it is to be a part of these babies’ lives, to have the ability to ease their suffering, to cherish and love them even though they aren’t able to give anything tangible back or even smile in return for our efforts.
We invest deeply, and we ache terribly when these kids die, but our hearts are like stained-glass windows. Those windows are made of broken glass that has been forged back together, and those windows are even stronger and more beautiful for having been broken.
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Skin Patch May Help With Peanut Allergy
Delivering small amounts of peanut protein boosted tolerance for about half of young patients in study
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Experimental Drug Might Help Drug-Resistant HIV
'This is potentially a lifesaving therapy,' researcher says
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Woman Gets $70M in Baby Powder/Ovarian Cancer Suit
Woman Gets $70M in Baby Powder/Ovarian Cancer Suit
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Measles Complication: More Common Than Thought?
One more reason to get your child vaccinated against the disease, infection experts say
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How You Can Meditate
Author Dan Harris and meditation expert Joseph Goldberg discuss how even the busiest, most distracted person can find a calmer state of mind.
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How to Get Cast as a Movie Extra
Get ready for your (small) big-screen debut.
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Save Time and Money with These 10 Double-Duty Beauty Products
Cream-based cheek color looks way more natural than power formulas and, as a bonus, a cream can also work as lip color. Apply on the apples of cheeks...
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Eating for Longevity
What makes some people live longer than others? Studies suggest that diet is one of the important contributors to longevity and a healthy life.
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More Americans Getting Health Care Under Obamacare
News comes as double-digit price hikes for health plans on the horizon
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Stressful Job, Little Control: Shorter Life Spans?
Workers with more say in their jobs had better chance of living longer, study finds
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More Adults Think E-Cigs as Harmful as Cigarettes
But researchers note they can help smokers quit even if they're not risk-free
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Dental Cleanings May Help Keep Lungs Clean Too
Twice annual visits reduce bacteria that can cause pneumonia, researcher says
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Drug Prices, Not Health Law, Top Voter Priorities
Majorities of Democrats, Republicans and independents support making sure high-cost drugs for chronic conditions are affordable.
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10 Ways to Recover After Making a Bad First Impression
The best approach to take when you've made a bad first impression is to offer a simple apology. Bad first impressions happen for a variety of reasons;...
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Beauty Secrets for Women With Large Pores
Often used in cosmetics to make formulas softer and easier to spread, silicone is a no-no for women with large pores, says Debra Jaliman, MD, a New York...
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Join the Teal Pumpkin Project on Halloween
Painted pumpkins let trick-or-treaters with food allergies know safe treats are available
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11 Fun Thanksgiving Crafts for Kids to Keep Them Busy
Keep your little turkeys entertained with these fun crafts.
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9 Clear Signs a Cold Is Coming (and How to Stop It)
If you pay attention to the subtle signals your body gives you, you can actually take action to help stave off a cold before it takes hold. We are...
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9 Signs of Borderline Personality Disorder You Shouldn’t Ignore
Unstable relationships could come from a legitimate personality disorder.
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Is It Bad to Eat Before Bed?
Many people think it’s a bad idea to eat before bed. This often comes from the belief that eating before you go to sleep leads to weight gain. However, some claim that a bedtime snack can actually support a weight loss diet. So what should you believe? The truth is, the answer isn’t the same […] The article "Is It Bad to Eat Before Bed?" appeared first on AuthorityNutrition.com
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9 Ways to Make a DIY Ice Pack
Here's one of the easiest ways to make your own ice pack: Soak a clean sponge in cold water. Let the excess water drip off, then place the sponge in a...
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7 Low-Carb Vegetables for a Diabetes Diet
All vegetables are nutritional superstars—with essential vitamins, minerals, and phytochemicals—but these seasonal picks can also help keep your blood sugar in line.
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8 Household Products that Are Natural Makeup Removers
Marina Peredo, MD, owner of the practice Skinfluence in New York City says for an all-over makeup removal, honey mixed with baking soda makes a great...
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الخميس، 27 أكتوبر 2016
Doctors Try Brain-Training for 'Phantom Limb Pain'
Robotic technology offers insight into the post-amputation phenomenon
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Study Questions Migraine Meds in Kids, Teens
Researchers found sugar pill worked as well as commonly prescribed drugs
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Dirty Touch Screen? Here’s Exactly How You Should Be Cleaning It
Take a look at your mobile device. Do you see oily fingerprints and lint? Dust and crumbs? Is that a hair stuck at the screen’s edge?
We take our electronics into public restrooms, hand them to runny-nosed toddlers, pass them around to share photos, and press them against sweaty skin in gyms. Repeated studies show that what accumulates is germy nastiness worse than what is on the bottom of your shoe. Like your toothbrush, “your mobile device is something you want to clean regularly,” says Dubert Guerrero, MD, an infectious disease specialist at Sanford Health in Fargo, North Dakota. And probably not something you want to pass around the table.
For Basic Sanitation
Cleaning your device can be tricky because you don’t want to damage it and manufacturers don’t give you much guidance. It can be done, however, if you’re conscientious. Health experts advise wiping it down with a moist microfiber cloth at least daily, which is sufficient to eliminate fingerprints and dust. Bacteria like clostridium difficile (which can cause diarrhea and inflammation of the colon) and flu viruses may require a sterilizing agent like bleach or alcohol.
This is a problem, since Apple officially warns against using “window cleaners, household cleaners, aerosol sprays, solvents, alcohol, ammonia, or abrasives” to clean its products.
Nevertheless, disinfectant wipes made for electronics are great at cleaning grime. But it’s far cheaper to make your own solution. To clean his mobile devices, Derek Meister, a technician for Best Buy’s repair and online support service, uses a one-to-one ratio of 70 percent isopropyl alcohol and distilled water, which together cost less than $4 at most stores.
Fill a spray bottle with the diluted alcohol, lightly moisten a lint-free cloth, preferably microfiber (no paper towels), and gently wipe down the screen and case. Never spray directly onto the device. To clean corners and around ports, use lint-free foam swabs rather than cotton swabs.
To Keep It Looking New
Using a can of compressed air to blow around ports and between keys will help maintain the look, performance, and resale value when it’s time to upgrade. This gets rid of dust and particles that can infiltrate and damage electronics. Another option is to buy a specialized air compressor like the DataVac Electric Duster, which lists for $100 and comes with all sorts of little attachments for cleaning out your device’s crevices and seams.
“An air compressor gets things really clean,” says Miroslav Djuric, former chief information architect at ifixit.com, an online do-it-yourself community.
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