Changing Your Diet…?

I think it’s good to change your diet.  Like clothing styles, friendships, your job, eating is serious stuff, and should be taken lightly**, it’s not etched in stone and probably originates in some fashion from long traditions and habits.  It’s complicated, it’s not complicated.  If you want to stay current, relevant, and keep things fresh, change and evolution is a good thing.  I’m not talking about week-to-week fad diets, rather thoughtful diet changes.

Whenever I’m talking about food…which is very often, what kind of eater I am comes up the majority of the time.  Figuring out how someone eats is one of those standard questions people talk about, like the weather or occupations…and most of the time you don’t really care, but you ask anyway.

This is an example of a standard conversation:

Me: Yeah, I had this great seitan sandwich at Salt.

Person: Oh, are you vegetarian?

Me: (pause…pause mostly because I’m struggling with myself to figure out how to explain myself, and then restruggling with myself because I think, this person doesn’t care. I don’t care, how can I talk about this? The fact that I’m struggling so much adds to the absurdity of myself and the situation.  Bam, in the span of about a synapse, but what feels like eternity, I say,) Well…

Person: Oh…are you a flexitarian?

Me: (Struggle ridiculous struggle ridiculous struggle) Um…well…

I’ve learned that clearly I have struggles with my brain.  I’ve also learned that like ethnicity, when given the opportunity to actually talk about who they are, or what they eat, people have a lot more to say than, “I eat meat” or, “I’m a vegetarian.” I think that’s good.  Humans just like boxes to put things in…biological stereotypes have helped us live all these years.  That those biological stereotypes gave way to cultural stereotypes, well, who saw that coming?

Hopefully we will all live a long time, and as the years go by, who’s to say we’ll have the same diet one year or decade to the next?  I’ve had people tell me they were vegetarian for 8 years, 20 years, one year, or, they’re learning to eat vegan because of health concerns.  People started eating fish, stopped eating gluten.

I mean, hell, the food “pyramidhas changed.

The other thing I noticed is that, when given the opportunity to talk about their eating habits, people had a lot of guilt associated with the diet change.  Though I struggle internally a lot and about a lot of things, I can say without struggle, I am DONE with the feelings of guilt associated with incorporating more things back into my diet.  I encourage everyone to do the same*.  Used to be vegetarian, but now you eat meat?  Fine.  Used to only eat raw, but had to give it up for whatever reason, that’s okay.

It’s okay to change your diet.

The ability to even change our diets and then have this guilt on our chests like the horla, this smelly rancid guilt coming out of our pores like a vegetarian might after eating meat for the first time in four years, due to changing our diet is definitely a First World Problem I say we can do without.  So, eat up!

Cheers.

* I thought I could do it, I thought I could write a whole post without an asterisk.  Well, I can’t OKAY? I had to say, incorporate more food into your diets (let me climb on this little soap box right here…that’s better), just don’t eat at McDonalds or places of that ilk.  NO ONE needs that except maybe professional athletes…don’t eat there unless you’re getting a frosty or an ice cream cone made from powder.

**Want to try something funny? (Requires a Twitter account) Tweet about genetically modified food and ask a simple question, or even state something you believe about GMO foods and  you’ll get a BARRAGE of folks that take themselves VERY seriously and DO NOT joke about food, at all.  It’s funny.  (Do this on a day when you need a self-esteem boost too because you’ll also pick up at least 3 new followers…and if you don’t…I’m sorry I just made you feel worse.)

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I’m a Crier

I cry at everything.  I mean, I don’t wail and sob, but tears come to my eyes pretty easily.  For those that know me, you’ve seen it literally, and without hyperbole, a million times.

Graduation celebration? I’m crying.

Wedding? Pass the tissue, because I always forget mine.*

StoryCorps? Forget about it.

I tear up at most American-centric songs.  I like them.  During the 7th inning stretch when “America the Beautiful” is sung, I cry, even if it’s a bad rendition.  Clearly I must be brainwashed** because a) I think our national songs are far superior to the songs of other countries and, b) I want to own a house some day.  Hey, I like my country…even though I do plot the governance and culture of my own nation-state…I’m currently trying to figure out how to properly handle the folks that don’t stop for pedestrians in crosswalks.  I mean, the standards to get a license in my nation-state will be much more stringent than the states’.  Plus, reliable public transportation coupled with a learned concern for our impact on our environment in my nation-state will ensure people will opt for alternative transportation instead of drive.  Despite these factors, people are human and sometimes their behavior is unpredictable, like ignoring the traffic laws…

I cry when I hear people have done amazing thing like the group of friends that organized to save the life of a young man in Haiti.  I cry when I try to retell the story, or when I try to tell any of them what an incredible thing it was that they did.

I’m tearing up writing this.

I cry when I see someone genuinely touched by something.  I was reading an interview I conducted with my friend Alyssa and she relayed the story of working in the Dominican Republic.  She helped pregnant women hear the heart beat of their babies and described how great that was…I teared up.

I have to say, it’s not easy being a crier.  Hey, you think I want to cry all the time?  I don’t.  I get ridiculed.  My coworkers and my friends give me a hard time.  They roll their eyes at me.  I feel their frustration.  “I feel their pain.”

John Boehner and I have at least one thing in common…I guess two.

*I love “hot yoga.” If you’re not familiar with this form of yoga, the room is heated to about 98 degrees or so and the flow is vinyasa, or power yoga, meaning you are working hard…you sweat a lot.  You drip sweat.  Despite the fact that I’m so great about scheduling this into my day, I would say about 80% of the time I forget to bring a towel to wipe off my yoga mat so I don’t slip and crack my chin trying to downward dog. Fine. That’s not a big deal.  I’m human, and resourceful.  I’ve used a spare tote bag I just happened to have lying around.  What truly freaks me out is that over the 2 years that I’ve been going to Amazing Yoga, I’ve only noticed about twice that someone else has forgotten a towel or one of those trendy little towel/mat things you put on top of your yoga mat. TWICE.  And I take note of this every time I go.

** If I’m aware that I’m brainwashed, does that mean I can’t be brainwashed in the first place?   Or, is letting the brainwashee know that he or she is brainwashed a new form of brainwashing?  Brainwashing and culture are apparently bed fellows, or slippery slope buddies.

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It’s an ear worm AND a trigger!

I’ve positioned myself so that my job and my personal life as a community member (blended role) require that I make a lot of decisions.  I like making decisions by myself, within a group, you name it…And I will make them in the rain.  And in the dark. And on a train.  And in a car.  And in a tree…

As of late, I’ve been asked to weigh in on some things.  For example, the car that Clayburgh and I share, a 1995 Volvo named Vick E. Coyote has been the source of a lot of decision making.  What to do about Vick E.

That’s all fine and good.  I have strong opinions about Vick E. (I love him.)  The thing that is getting to me is not the fact that I have to make decisions, it’s more, how I’m being asked in the first place.

“I dunno, what do you think? Is it worth it?” “I just don’t know if it’s worth it. What about you?”

Is it worth it?

Every time I hear these words, in my mind, and lately, out loud, I say, “is it worth it? Let me work it. I put my thing down flip it and reverse it.”  Bam.  A trigger is born thanks to Missy Elliott.  Unfortunately for me, and those around me, when this trigger is in my head, I can only think of “replacement words” that keep to the beat because I don’t actually know the lyrics.

To help my sanity, and again, the sanity of those around me, so I didn’t have to sing, “is it worth it, let me work it, la la la la, la la la la.  La la la la la la la yuh…do do do do, do do do do.  Do do do do do do do,” I looked up the lyrics.  And I’m happy to report that there are sections in the song where the lines are actually played backward…so it doesn’t make any sense anyway…and I recognize I’m the last one to know this factoid…and what the hell is a factoid anyway?  Is it different from a fact? Can a factoid dress up like a fact for Halloween?

Anyway, enjoy a personal trigger of mine, and what I also believe is an ear worm.

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First World Problems: Thanks a lot FB**

Here’s what happened:

Some girlfriends* and I were communicating via the [annoying] facebook emailing system.  We were trying to find a time to meet up for dinner.  Having kids, obtaining Ph.Ds, starting our own businesses, volunteering like crazy, n’at, means getting together in the evening is difficult.

I admit, I lost track of things; I got busy and figured dinner logistics would continue to volley.  Fast forward a few days, I got a text from my friend asking if I would be able to join everyone for dinner–that night–at NaCl.

What?! I thought. When, how? What?! I went back to the facebook email exchange, searched specifically for the girlfriends’ names, and couldn’t even find our exchange.  Leah sent me a screen shot*** of the information I missed: the back and forth continued, a date had been set, everyone was all in, except for me.  Suddenly I was voiceless and continued to be so despite friends emailing and saying, “Regina? You in?”  A trigger was pulled and the dinner date was set.

Apparently facebook tweaked out and excluded me from the conversation completely.  Leah suspects the emailing system was updating and my profile was left out of that particular wave of updates.  Who knows.  All I know is that facebook tried to kill my social life.  And to you, facebook, I say, YES, I did miss that amazing dinner with my girlfriends, and I also say, “I bleed, sir, but not kill’d.”

*Growing up, I never used the term “girlfriends” to describe my female friends.  I always thought it sounded old, I stepped through some door, got old and now I say this term. Eh.

**Take this as if I’m not serious…and serious…and not serious.  Just down slap me or things will get real.  Call it post-hyperbole if you will.

***I give props to friends that know how to do screen shots.

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Ridiculous

Fork in my yogurt

Impractical yet needed

A pain in my side

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First World Problems to the Max

Douglas Coupland writes a lot about middle class experiences and the proclivity of the middle class toward creating or honing in on problems that, when given certain scrutiny, are in fact not really problems at all.  (He’s Canadian by the by.)

When this proclivity toward bemoaning certain mundane problems is part of the main culture of a given country, like the United States, or CANADA (and of course, not everyone participates, sure), this movement can be classified as First World Problems.

First World Problems are ridiculous, funny, humbling.  And honestly, the other thing is, First World Problems actually do suck.  Like the fact that all of my friends have had to deal with me publicly working through my anger and frustrations via Facebook about my technology curse I picked up a few years ago, must really suck for them.  The technology curse sucks for me, so I could only imagine having to hear about it all the time.  Having a technology curse is a First World Problem (and for some other Worlds that are beginning to see the increase in cell phone but not an increase in cell towers, they feel me on this.)

What I love about First World Problems is the space they occupy in our lives.*  They are ipso facto problems; layered problems; Kafka. What I mean is, the very problem stated isn’t of interest, but more, of how the individual categorizes and gives life to each of the problems.

There are many people on the spectrum complaining about First World Problems.  I mean, it’s a spectrum, spectra are wide, and deep and multi-faceted.

Here’s a short example of some folks on the spectrum:

A) People who actually, truly, really complain about particular problems in earnest such as their housekeeper not doing a good job, or flipping out about scratches on their city car.  I recognize those are real problems for some people that cause them great angst.  I probably judge these people.

B) Then there are the folks that complain about scratches on their car, or talk about having a housekeeper, and almost while they are stating their frustration, they simultaneously joke about how ridiculous they sound.  “I know that I’m lucky to even have a car in the city, and scratches will definitely happen, it’s just that this is the first nice car I’ve ever invested in…but, whatever, scratches happen.”  And then they go off and volunteer somewhere.

C) Let’s not forget the folks that complain about nothing and inhabit the end of the spectrum, or, are to the very right on a standard deviation chart.  1) If these folks DO complain, it’s probably in the context of complaining about a problem they are already trying to solve.  “Ugh, I’m so frustrated that I can’t get more people to VOTE.  It’s so important.”  “Yeah, that sucks.  But why are you ignoring saving wild animals?  Don’t you think you should do more for them and quit whining about how you’re failing at getting people to vote?” The original FWP complainer acquiesces and goes and joins the WWF; and 2) The people on this end of the spectrum are probably in the leprechaun family of not existing cause I ain’t never witnessed anyone like this before.

I write all of this for two reasons, well, three:

1) I just feel like enumerating things.  It keeps me linearish.

2) I would love to hear about your thoughts about First World Problems and people on the spectrum, and finally,

3) I have just experienced a First World Problem so horrible, I had to blog about it.  I’ll tell you the story later.  I’m still processing.

*Please refer to my post where I talk about my triggers.  Often, when I hear the words, “I love…” I almost always automatically say it in my mind the way Jay from “Clerks” says it when he says, “I love women!”

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Liberty Paints

I made homemade teriyaki sauce for the first time.
Comprised of soy sauce, mirin and honey.
Combine sake and sugar 3:1 if mirin is unavailable.
I wonder how I can make my own sake.

I poured half of the teriyaki sauce in a bowl,
Admiring, as I did, its dark luster the recipe promised.
To that liquid with so much depth I added honey, garlic powder and ground ginger,
but the terikayi sauce seemed the same.

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I don’t know

I know we all have our triggers, and for all of us, our triggers are different.  (Not to be confused with buttons.)  I wonder sometimes if I’m the only one with my specific kind of triggers.  I have to doubt this, I mean, if there are only six kinds of personalities* in the world, then I surely am not unique in my triggers.

Mostly my triggers are words that I hear that make me want to quote, sometimes at length, or, ad naseum depending on how you feel about the situation, scenes from movies or in this particular case, sing songs.  I sometimes break down in song and dance, but mostly just the former.  I wonder, is this normal? Do other people do these things?  Why is it that many times, if given the right ingredients: a relaxing dinner or a good workout for example, hearing or saying certain words make me want to sing certain songs as opposed to, oh, I don’t know, moving on in the conversation?  How did this trigger get into my brain?  Is it from my childhood or my formidable years that these things took root and so now, as an adult, manifest so that when I hear or say the words, “I don’t know” I feel compelled to sing Jodeci’s “Cry for you”?

*I’m going to warn you now or apologize now: the hyperlink is to a Wikipedia page, and that’s lame.  It is fun, however to think what was more compelling to you to know now: what the hyperlink is, or what the asterisk is trying to say…

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Realities

rainy street of Pittsburgh

 

People caught in rain without umbrellas.  I think, where are you going?

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Elevator Pitch

He asked, “going up?”

She said, “yes.” As I walked past thought, they’ll fall in love.

Elevator Pitch

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