If you've heard in the news lately, you may have noticed that in the good ol' U.S. of A. here we've got what you'd call a big ol' full on political fight. Yes, my dearies, it's an election year. The time in our country where people dig out their bumper stickers, get into loud shouting matches and check their brains at the door (and forget the pick up ticket) so they, too, can jump on their favorite 100%-always-right-political-party boat while it sinks to the bottom of the ocean.
Good plan.
We have these two main parties that fight for the spotlight and point out how the other party is totally el wrong-o. One party gets blamed for being in love with rich people, another party is blamed for being in love with murdering babies, both of them promise you (cross their heart and hope to die) that they'll never in their entire life ever even think about raising taxes on you (pinkie swear, stick a needle in my eye). How's that working out for yas?
It's also the time that you can play everyone's favorite game: The Reagan Tally! Whoever says "Ronald Reagan" the most, wins. Bonus points are given for whoever makes a better smirk at their opponent. Smirking must always be done as you look away and downward, half an extra bonus point if you shake your head (pretending you're meaning, "Oh-you-are-so-el-wrongo" to the public, but on the inside thinking, "I gotta think up a really great whopper to get out of this one. Maybe I can talk about...taxes and healthcare, that will steer 'em off of this sticky stink!").
You can usually pick your political party based on your race or religion or sexual orientation. Those all carry some weight. If you're a teacher or any other type of union worker, you've got yours picked for you also. Are you pro-life? Well, get into your category. Nobody anymore really actually thinks about those pesky little whiners in the back of their own head, namely their own thoughts.
People on the radio and the nightly news are making those decisions for you and you can just smile, clap and get on board with them, because that (quite frankly) takes a lot less effort than having to go through all that hard thinking garbage. Thinking! It's for the birds.
(Put a bird on it! - Portlandia ...sorry.)
I love also how the main political candidates pretend that they are regular, normal, Joe Schmoes. This is actually my favorite part of the whole thing. "My grandmammy always used to tell me, 'Sonny! You gotta eat yer grits and grow big and strong or yehs won't be able to work up at the factory like Uncle Bob!'" Lookie here, me smarties, get real - they couldn't tell you the amount it took to fill up their Hummer/private limo/Aston Martin/private jet airplane for the literal life of them. They wouldn't be able to tell you the price of a gallon of milk (neither hormone-laden nor organic), a stick of butter, a loaf of bread (Aunt Millies OR Ezekiel), or what regular human people pay for their Payless shoes. (They don't even know what Payless Shoes IS.) It's pretty much like Andy Bernard asking Darryl if he should pretend he grew up in an apartment. Or if that's too harsh.
I wonder how long it will take for people to see that maybe, just MAAAAAYBE, the candidates and the parties with which they are involved are only putting the questions out there that they want you to think about. I know that many of you think of the Dems and the Repubs (new word, yes, thank you) as polar opposites. That might be because they're opposite on the topics they present to you and would like you to talk amongst yourselves about (I'm feeling verklempt!).
It's like being a parent. You give your kid two options, neither of which you care that much about and either one is just dandy cakes. "Johnny boy, do you want to scrub the floor or wash the toilet?" Great. That's kind of different from, "Johnny boy, do you want to eat ice cream for dinner or would you like some yummy vegetables?" Now we're on a different planet and one isn't really where you want to go.
I wonder if they'll get into it about audting the Fed or why corn is subsidized, why they think it's a good idea Monsanto is the FDA, or why it's best that the government is making out with McDonalds in the back room while they stand on the front porch and yell at the masses for being such a bunch of Fatty McGhees. Perhaps they'll talk about the gold standard. Or maybe they'll talk about the freedom to drink your favorite kind of milk.
I know that seems rather...um...odd. But my point is this - if they can get all up in your business between your glass and your lips, who knows where they'll try to go.
But most people don't care about any of that. They've got an iphone, satellite tv, a car that talks to them and pretends it's their friend, and every type of entertainment and distraction you can think of. They don't need to think of weighty matters because such nonsense would interfere with the next season of the Bachelorette and Dancing With The Stars and every teenage vampire tv show on the CW.
You see, my dearies, our sad little country is (mostly) filled with people who think only about how the government is going to help them and fill up their pockets with leprechaun gold nuggets and rain down blueberry surprise Kool-Aid from the sky for them. My peeps, I know that we will be affected by a myriad of decisions and we want to protect our families and help them in the best way possible, but perhaps, JUST PERHAPS - we should think about how everything is going to pan out for the good of the country and our future - based on our actual, oh, I dunno, Constitution. No? You don't care about that? Okay, cool. Good idea.
Whatever you do, I beg you to think. I beg you to research candidates. I implore you to think about what you believe FIRST before being convinced by MSNBC/Fox/Rush Limbaugh/CNN/Rachel Maddow, et al. You can do it. God made you different, he made you special and he gave you your own brain.
And please remember - above all - those peeps out there care about one thing more than anything else in the whole wide universe: getting to live in a special white house over in the D.C. area and get to fly around in a special plane named Air Force One. They will do and say anything to you, for you, with you so that they can make their dream come true. This, my darlings, is something you mustn't forget. As they speak to you, filter it through their numero uno goal.
Think. You never know what could happen when you do. You might even change the world.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Thursday, October 4, 2012
The magical wonder of kombucha...and you.
Today I shall tell you about the magical wonder of kombucha.
Ahem. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Benefits.
I just got this for you from kombuchakamp.com. She lists the benefits of the elixir of awesomesauce for you and heeeeeeere they are!
*Probiotics – healthy bacteria
*Alkalize the body – balances internal pH
*Detoxify the liver – happy liver = happy mood
*Increase metabolism – rev your internal engine
*Improve digestion – keep your system moving
*Rebuild connective tissue – helps with arthritis, gout, asthma, rheumatism
*Cancer prevention
*Alleviate constipation
*Boost energy – helps with chronic fatigue
*Reduce blood pressure
*Relieve headaches & migraines
*Reduce kidney stones
*High in antioxidants – destroy free-radicals that cause cancer
*High in polyphenols
*Improve eyesight
*Heal excema – can be applied topically to soften the skin
*Prevent artheriosclerosis
*Speed healing of ulcers – kills h.pylori on contact
*Help clear up candida & yeast infections
*Aid healthy cell regeneration
*Reduce gray hair
*Lower glucose levels – prevents spiking from eating
Woah. Dude. Insane, right? After reading this list, did you just say, "Holy kombucha!!" I know I did!
So you're all like, okay, yeah, right. What? You think I'm a dummy head, don't ya, Daisy Pink? You think I'm gonna believe all that. What, are you selling me a miracle cure? I've been around the block too many times to know that if it sounds too good to be true, it must be. So what's your catch, Pinks?
First of all, no, I don't think you're a dummy head. I think that if this were in pill form and marketed by Top Dawg Pharmaceutical Company, I'd be quite leery too. BUT! ALAS! This special K drink doesn't cure you of anything.
What?
Yes, that's right. It doesn't cure you of your ailments at all. It reduces the stress on your liver from all the toxins you put in it from your high fructose corn syrup (Adam) or whatever else you've got going on in there - by purging and detoxing your liver so that your liver can do the work God made it to do. Namely, clean out your body.
Our bodies have a few lines of defense of getting rid of the improper crapola we put into it. The first is our liver, the main junk system of the whole place. If your liver is all freakin' out because you are slapping it in the head (or equivalent) with all that disgusting processed food, environmental toxins, etc. and it can't do it's job anymore, you've got a backup plan. (Thank God. No, literally. You should.)
You've got other systems in place in there - the last one being your skin (eczema, zits, et cetera.). By that point, it's literally trying to leap out through your pores.
(And can I just recommend a book to you right now? It's old. It has no fancy pictures. It was written in like 1960. But let me just tell you, there are some things in there that you might look at with a crazy eyebrow, but there is so much good stuff in there that it will blow your whole mind. It's called Food Is Your Best Medicine by Dr. Henry Bieler. This guy was a stinkin' genius. You'll have to find it on amazon or something because this puppy is out of print. Get your hands on a copy of this and I promise you, it will change the way you think about food completely. And then you'll feel ultrapopular because you have an out of print book and all your friends will want to be just like you. Duh. Isn't that the easiest and best way to seek popularity among your peers? I thought so. Anyway...)
So, anyway, I just want you to think about it. Could this help you? Consider it.
There is one thing I must say to you, though. I must warn you. If you do decide to get into it and go all stingray in the kitchen, you've got to be super hygenic. You can't be a gross-ey pants because if you introduce outside bacteria into your scoby, you could end up with making yourself an e.coli cocktail. And I'm pretty sure that's not what you're going for here. Scobys can also grow mold if they aren't kept in the proper way. If they're too humid or don't get enough air to breathe, they can get moldy - just like bread mold. It doesn't have fancy special mold, just the regular run of the mill kind you're used to on your 12 day old loaf that got shoved in the back of the fridge/cupboard, etc.
If you want to do it right, find someone near you who has done it before and have them give you a hands-on tutoring session. The wonder of kombucha is not only all these benefits that are mentioned above but (gasp!) there's another - scobys have babies! They double every batch. That means your friend can give you one of her/his baby scobies and you can go on with your bad self on your own.
If you have nobody in the entire circle of your world who has ever even heard of kombucha, search our wide world of the web and find a how to. I recommend the KombuchaKamp website, they are very knowledgeable and they can even sell you a scoby, I think.
If you want to see someone make it, you should check out this youtube video of a guy with no shirt and a flappy winter hat who does a great job of it. He uses green tea, though, and I only use black tea, but it's all good.
Last thing. I know you're thinking, "So what in the world does this weird voodoo thing taste like anyway?" I have heard it was an acquired taste, but I liked it right off the bat. It has a vinegary smell, but it doesn't taste vinegary (unless you let it brew for like 20 days and then you can clean your floors with it fo' sho'). Have you ever had apple cider that went a little too long and got all fizzy? It's kind of like that plus a little "beer-y" from the fermentation and bubbly-ness. Do you like beer? Maybe you'll like it. It also has thoughts of apple cider vinegar but not that sharp and bitter taste that vinegar has. The longer you let it brew, the more vinegary it will be.
Did I just totally freak you out by saying vinegar? I know. It sounds HORRIBLE. In fact, I hate vinegar. But I LOVE KOMBUCHA!!! Seriously. Be brave. You can do this. Put on your big girl undies and man up. (Er, um...?)
Just see if you can get your little mitts on a cup of it and try it for yourself.
Your liver will thank you.
Did you just say, "Sambuka? What the heck is frambuesa!? Or whatever you...just...said..."
(For the record, I think Sambuka is a town [?] and a frambuesa is the Spanish word for raspberry. Kombucha is neither one of those.) Now. Let's begin. Kombucha is a drink. It has been called "the elixir of immortality" by some and it has been around for, oh, let's say, like 2,000 years. No, for real. Not kidding. This is just an ounce of the awesomesauce, hang with me. Some people have put their nasty, mean cancer into remission with the concoction. Getting interesting-er? I think yes. Not only are these things reported about our babushka, er, kombucha, but it is also repudiated to be an excellent detox-er for your liver. You kind of need your liver. Just in case you were thinking that's not a big deal, you would be el wrong-o (not even close to Spanish). Your liver is the junk bucket of your body, getting rid of all that high fructose corn syrup you've been eating (Adam and A-beans, this is a good thing - don't argue, just keep sipping your 24L of coffee and read on).
Now I don't know if it promotes weight loss or anything - I haven't necessarily heard that - but you could totally pretend it does, because I am quite sure if I said that, you would be drinking it up the wazoo. Weight loss is such a huge industry and interest that you could pretty much get people to drink pig bladders if you said it would make you lose 30 pounds. And some of you would do it, wouldn't yas? Drinking pig bladders. For crying out loud, please, for the love of all that is good and decent, work with me here. If you would consider eating spiders legs or drinking pig bladders if it promised you the worthlessness of being a waif, consider the slightly more important thing of let's say...overall health here. And actually, since it's a probiotic, you've got that whole...um... elimination of toxins from the intestines going on...perhaps it would be a slight weight loss thingy. But don't be shallow, c'mon, big picture, big picture.
So let me just tell you one very important thing here. You need to drink it before you see it. See the "scoby", that is. Because I must be quite frank with you here, a scoby looks like an alien and feels like...a stingray/dolphin. It is white and is generally shaped like a pancake. I'm trying to protect you from the whole, "Thanks but, uh, no thanks!" thought that will absolutely invade your brain if you see the little dear scoby first. Drink the lovely drink first, get all addicted to it (c'mon, I don't mean LITERALLY!) and then go brew some and you'll be all thinkin' you're cool since you're handling your stingray in the privacy of your own kitchen.
Now, one other thing. It is made from brewed tea and slightly ferments (awesome, something like .0000005% alcohol going on there) so if those things are forbodden (say that word aloud in a foreboding, deep manly English accent voice) to you, you ought to just sigh and say, yes, well, I guess that's not my thang. People do give this to their children so I'm being quite serious when I tell you about the very miniscule alcohol level in case I just freaked you out. Less than cough syrup. Less than O'Doules, and 1000 times less than the rubbing alcohol the wayward vagabond is drinking on the city street under the overpass with the sign. (p.s. I am totally in favor of you packing some snacks in your car to hand out the window when such opportunities arise.)
Now I don't know if it promotes weight loss or anything - I haven't necessarily heard that - but you could totally pretend it does, because I am quite sure if I said that, you would be drinking it up the wazoo. Weight loss is such a huge industry and interest that you could pretty much get people to drink pig bladders if you said it would make you lose 30 pounds. And some of you would do it, wouldn't yas? Drinking pig bladders. For crying out loud, please, for the love of all that is good and decent, work with me here. If you would consider eating spiders legs or drinking pig bladders if it promised you the worthlessness of being a waif, consider the slightly more important thing of let's say...overall health here. And actually, since it's a probiotic, you've got that whole...um... elimination of toxins from the intestines going on...perhaps it would be a slight weight loss thingy. But don't be shallow, c'mon, big picture, big picture.
So let me just tell you one very important thing here. You need to drink it before you see it. See the "scoby", that is. Because I must be quite frank with you here, a scoby looks like an alien and feels like...a stingray/dolphin. It is white and is generally shaped like a pancake. I'm trying to protect you from the whole, "Thanks but, uh, no thanks!" thought that will absolutely invade your brain if you see the little dear scoby first. Drink the lovely drink first, get all addicted to it (c'mon, I don't mean LITERALLY!) and then go brew some and you'll be all thinkin' you're cool since you're handling your stingray in the privacy of your own kitchen.
Now, one other thing. It is made from brewed tea and slightly ferments (awesome, something like .0000005% alcohol going on there) so if those things are forbodden (say that word aloud in a foreboding, deep manly English accent voice) to you, you ought to just sigh and say, yes, well, I guess that's not my thang. People do give this to their children so I'm being quite serious when I tell you about the very miniscule alcohol level in case I just freaked you out. Less than cough syrup. Less than O'Doules, and 1000 times less than the rubbing alcohol the wayward vagabond is drinking on the city street under the overpass with the sign. (p.s. I am totally in favor of you packing some snacks in your car to hand out the window when such opportunities arise.)
Ahem. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Benefits.
I just got this for you from kombuchakamp.com. She lists the benefits of the elixir of awesomesauce for you and heeeeeeere they are!
*Probiotics – healthy bacteria
*Alkalize the body – balances internal pH
*Detoxify the liver – happy liver = happy mood
*Increase metabolism – rev your internal engine
*Improve digestion – keep your system moving
*Rebuild connective tissue – helps with arthritis, gout, asthma, rheumatism
*Cancer prevention
*Alleviate constipation
*Boost energy – helps with chronic fatigue
*Reduce blood pressure
*Relieve headaches & migraines
*Reduce kidney stones
*High in antioxidants – destroy free-radicals that cause cancer
*High in polyphenols
*Improve eyesight
*Heal excema – can be applied topically to soften the skin
*Prevent artheriosclerosis
*Speed healing of ulcers – kills h.pylori on contact
*Help clear up candida & yeast infections
*Aid healthy cell regeneration
*Reduce gray hair
*Lower glucose levels – prevents spiking from eating
Woah. Dude. Insane, right? After reading this list, did you just say, "Holy kombucha!!" I know I did!
So you're all like, okay, yeah, right. What? You think I'm a dummy head, don't ya, Daisy Pink? You think I'm gonna believe all that. What, are you selling me a miracle cure? I've been around the block too many times to know that if it sounds too good to be true, it must be. So what's your catch, Pinks?
First of all, no, I don't think you're a dummy head. I think that if this were in pill form and marketed by Top Dawg Pharmaceutical Company, I'd be quite leery too. BUT! ALAS! This special K drink doesn't cure you of anything.
What?
Yes, that's right. It doesn't cure you of your ailments at all. It reduces the stress on your liver from all the toxins you put in it from your high fructose corn syrup (Adam) or whatever else you've got going on in there - by purging and detoxing your liver so that your liver can do the work God made it to do. Namely, clean out your body.
Our bodies have a few lines of defense of getting rid of the improper crapola we put into it. The first is our liver, the main junk system of the whole place. If your liver is all freakin' out because you are slapping it in the head (or equivalent) with all that disgusting processed food, environmental toxins, etc. and it can't do it's job anymore, you've got a backup plan. (Thank God. No, literally. You should.)
You've got other systems in place in there - the last one being your skin (eczema, zits, et cetera.). By that point, it's literally trying to leap out through your pores.
(And can I just recommend a book to you right now? It's old. It has no fancy pictures. It was written in like 1960. But let me just tell you, there are some things in there that you might look at with a crazy eyebrow, but there is so much good stuff in there that it will blow your whole mind. It's called Food Is Your Best Medicine by Dr. Henry Bieler. This guy was a stinkin' genius. You'll have to find it on amazon or something because this puppy is out of print. Get your hands on a copy of this and I promise you, it will change the way you think about food completely. And then you'll feel ultrapopular because you have an out of print book and all your friends will want to be just like you. Duh. Isn't that the easiest and best way to seek popularity among your peers? I thought so. Anyway...)
So, anyway, I just want you to think about it. Could this help you? Consider it.
There is one thing I must say to you, though. I must warn you. If you do decide to get into it and go all stingray in the kitchen, you've got to be super hygenic. You can't be a gross-ey pants because if you introduce outside bacteria into your scoby, you could end up with making yourself an e.coli cocktail. And I'm pretty sure that's not what you're going for here. Scobys can also grow mold if they aren't kept in the proper way. If they're too humid or don't get enough air to breathe, they can get moldy - just like bread mold. It doesn't have fancy special mold, just the regular run of the mill kind you're used to on your 12 day old loaf that got shoved in the back of the fridge/cupboard, etc.
If you want to do it right, find someone near you who has done it before and have them give you a hands-on tutoring session. The wonder of kombucha is not only all these benefits that are mentioned above but (gasp!) there's another - scobys have babies! They double every batch. That means your friend can give you one of her/his baby scobies and you can go on with your bad self on your own.
If you have nobody in the entire circle of your world who has ever even heard of kombucha, search our wide world of the web and find a how to. I recommend the KombuchaKamp website, they are very knowledgeable and they can even sell you a scoby, I think.
If you want to see someone make it, you should check out this youtube video of a guy with no shirt and a flappy winter hat who does a great job of it. He uses green tea, though, and I only use black tea, but it's all good.
Last thing. I know you're thinking, "So what in the world does this weird voodoo thing taste like anyway?" I have heard it was an acquired taste, but I liked it right off the bat. It has a vinegary smell, but it doesn't taste vinegary (unless you let it brew for like 20 days and then you can clean your floors with it fo' sho'). Have you ever had apple cider that went a little too long and got all fizzy? It's kind of like that plus a little "beer-y" from the fermentation and bubbly-ness. Do you like beer? Maybe you'll like it. It also has thoughts of apple cider vinegar but not that sharp and bitter taste that vinegar has. The longer you let it brew, the more vinegary it will be.
Did I just totally freak you out by saying vinegar? I know. It sounds HORRIBLE. In fact, I hate vinegar. But I LOVE KOMBUCHA!!! Seriously. Be brave. You can do this. Put on your big girl undies and man up. (Er, um...?)
Just see if you can get your little mitts on a cup of it and try it for yourself.
Your liver will thank you.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Saran Wrapping a Lawn: Concrete Evidence of Insanity
Let's talk about how to make your neighbors think that you are absolutely, certifiably, and completely nutso in the head-o.
What? Do I have experience in this area? Funny you should mention it, because, why YES, I DO!
Let me begin by saying that I love a good lawn. I suppose I love a good garden even more (UK-ers - lawn = garden; garden = the place you grow flowers and veggies). After I watched that video from that lady from the U.K. (speaking of which!), I would one day consider turning my lawn into a food plot, but for now, I'm still growing grass.
Anyway. My grass is HORRIBLE. This makes me sad. I try to fix it but I refuse to put bomb salad on it (chemical fertilizer. You do know that's where they got that from, right? No, literally. It's the same stuff that's in bombs. After the second World War, they had to figure out what to do with the ultracrap and saw it killed weeds and greened up your grass real nicey-nice like.)
So the main problem is my dog (speaking of ultracrap). My dog has this special problem. She...how shall I say it...has liquid poo six times a day. It kills grass. Nearly instantly. So the backyard has a myriad of brown spots. The front yard is utterly murdered because of the large tree that sucks up all of the water instead of sharing it with the grass.
One thing is a must - even though I may have a crunchy brown lawn, I insist on having it edged. Nothing is worse than when the grass hangs over the crack of the sidewalk or driveway. It's like a kid who has hair so long it's hanging over his ears in an unsightly manner. (I can't stand that either.) It lets me be in control of something in the horrid world of crispy crunch lawn.
Did you just tell me to water it? Oh my goodness, you are so smart. I can't bear to have that high of a water bill, though, so thanks anyway.
So instead I've done something else.
Go ahead, it's time to get worried.
So my brother was an engineer in his past life and rubbed shoulders with other such folk. They like nothing more than to do crazy experiments on things to figure out what works best. One of his buddies did such an experiment on his lawn. He got plastic cups and filled them with different soils, put them in different areas (shade, sun, half, etc.), did different stuff with them. He found that the best growing one was when it had its own personal greenhouse. What does this look like?
It looks like saran wrap on your lawn pinned down with toothpicks.
So that's what I did.
You basically dig up some ground, add your seed and water it up and then cover over it with your fancy schmancy handy dandy plastic wrap.
Now you're thinking, hmmm, that's kind of interesting.
What my neighbors were thinking was, "SHE'S kind of interesting. She's pinning saran wrap onto her grass. I knew she was weird, and now I have empirical evidence."
They slow down and stare and elbow the passenger in the car. The people walking their dogs stop and scratch their heads. I am nearly as special as an Ohioan.
Oh, but soon, very soon, I am hoping for little green sprouts.
So my dog can kill them.
Insanity is really hard to get rid of. But for now, you'll have to excuse me, I'm going to go check on my saran wrapped lawn.
What? Do I have experience in this area? Funny you should mention it, because, why YES, I DO!
Let me begin by saying that I love a good lawn. I suppose I love a good garden even more (UK-ers - lawn = garden; garden = the place you grow flowers and veggies). After I watched that video from that lady from the U.K. (speaking of which!), I would one day consider turning my lawn into a food plot, but for now, I'm still growing grass.
Anyway. My grass is HORRIBLE. This makes me sad. I try to fix it but I refuse to put bomb salad on it (chemical fertilizer. You do know that's where they got that from, right? No, literally. It's the same stuff that's in bombs. After the second World War, they had to figure out what to do with the ultracrap and saw it killed weeds and greened up your grass real nicey-nice like.)
So the main problem is my dog (speaking of ultracrap). My dog has this special problem. She...how shall I say it...has liquid poo six times a day. It kills grass. Nearly instantly. So the backyard has a myriad of brown spots. The front yard is utterly murdered because of the large tree that sucks up all of the water instead of sharing it with the grass.
One thing is a must - even though I may have a crunchy brown lawn, I insist on having it edged. Nothing is worse than when the grass hangs over the crack of the sidewalk or driveway. It's like a kid who has hair so long it's hanging over his ears in an unsightly manner. (I can't stand that either.) It lets me be in control of something in the horrid world of crispy crunch lawn.
Did you just tell me to water it? Oh my goodness, you are so smart. I can't bear to have that high of a water bill, though, so thanks anyway.
So instead I've done something else.
Go ahead, it's time to get worried.
So my brother was an engineer in his past life and rubbed shoulders with other such folk. They like nothing more than to do crazy experiments on things to figure out what works best. One of his buddies did such an experiment on his lawn. He got plastic cups and filled them with different soils, put them in different areas (shade, sun, half, etc.), did different stuff with them. He found that the best growing one was when it had its own personal greenhouse. What does this look like?
It looks like saran wrap on your lawn pinned down with toothpicks.
So that's what I did.
You basically dig up some ground, add your seed and water it up and then cover over it with your fancy schmancy handy dandy plastic wrap.
Now you're thinking, hmmm, that's kind of interesting.
What my neighbors were thinking was, "SHE'S kind of interesting. She's pinning saran wrap onto her grass. I knew she was weird, and now I have empirical evidence."
They slow down and stare and elbow the passenger in the car. The people walking their dogs stop and scratch their heads. I am nearly as special as an Ohioan.
Oh, but soon, very soon, I am hoping for little green sprouts.
So my dog can kill them.
Insanity is really hard to get rid of. But for now, you'll have to excuse me, I'm going to go check on my saran wrapped lawn.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
My Top Reasons to Hate Ohio
So, here I am, driving through the great U.S. of A. on my way to Virginia. It is a lovely trip. Well, minus the part about driving through Ohio.
Ohio is a special land. Very. Filled with...special things. Like the most boring scenery you have ever seen in your life. Like you might want to just stop off at one of their fast food chain restaurants to get a plastic fork so you can poke your eyes with it. That kind of boring.
Now this wouldn't be so hideous (although hideous actually might be an understatement) if you could just zoom on through it. No, no, no. In Ohio, they want you to ENJOY their special ed state by making you go the speed of a blind and lame wombat throughout their land. They have a special 65 mph speed limit. Some places have a 55 mph speed limit! For real. When was the last time your state had that? Like 1991? Something like that, I bet. Ohio is sooooo 1990...or something.
If you try to go quickly through it (or shall I say "quicker" - since we all know that quickly would not apply in this case), you will be greeted by their apparent #1 most populous profession of the special state: a state police officer. These people are so plentiful that they can space them out every twelve feet or so along the highway. You can count miles by them. (In Estelle Costanza's voice:) "George, look, we must have gone a whole mile by now! I've counted fifty police officers! It's only taken us fourteen minutes!"
I actually don't have anything against police officers, just to make it clear. I'm just amazed that there are THAT many of them.
Then, you can drive down the expressway with views of interesting companies with names like GROB. Have you ever watched Ren and Stimpy? Remember the "log commercial"? Sing along with me - it's GROB, it's GROB, it's big, it's heavy, it's wood - it's GROB, it's GROB, it's better than bad, it's good! Hi, I work for GROB and my name is Bob. My boss' name is Borg. We report to Brog. The other guy who works here is Barf. Or Bart. Whatever. So, that was some good entertainment. For like four minutes.
Oh! But wait! If you want to be entertained - you need to watch for decorated overpasses. It is very important in Ohio to decorate your overpasses. I think maybe there is a special and secret competition. I think the (plentiful) state police come around and give you a ticket if you didn't decorate your bridge fancily enough. They have large city names plastered across them (because exit signs are clearly not enough) and sometimes they design plants in a pattern around them. It is very special. I wonder if the state police vote you off of the island if you don't sass up your overpass.
Have I mentioned the toll roads? Oh, silly toll roads. Great idea for the government, though. Here, pay some taxes and we'll fix up the roads. Hold up, homeboy! Oh, you want to drive on it? That's not how we roll here the Ohio! You've gotta pay up. Suckas!!! You didn't think you'd get to actually driiiive on it just because you paid the taxes to build it in the first place, right? It's like a roller coaster at the fair. And in Ohioland, you just pay up every time you want to ride that special ride. Aren't we having fun now?
There's also special places like Cleveland. If you haven't seen the youtube on Cleveland (Julie D - you've GOTTA see this one), you are missing out. "See our river that catches on fire, it's so polluted that all our fish have A.I.D.S., our main export is crippling depression, don't slow down in East Cleveland or you'll die..." I won't take away the surprise punchline. It's a good one. And it's true.
The last two are equally disturbing in our quest of the exploration of Ohioland.
The second, a billboard I saw. It shows a picture of a farmer out in his field. The bold and main words are something like, "Supporting our local farmers." The bottom? One word. One crippling, horrifying, murderous, lying, malicious and giant piece of propoganda: "Monsanto." I am sure that many have screamed the aghast screams of incredulosity in that space - and I joined the ranks with a hysterical cry (and a wild slapping of the dashboard) in that moment and in that very special place. This very sign in itself contains enough bunk in it that a whole blog ought to be dedicated to it. Perhaps I shall. Later.
So you see, Ohio has a lot to offer. Whenever you feel the need to pay to drive on a street or see a police officer every fifteen seconds along the expressway or if you're just in the mood for checking out good ol' GROB, a fancy bridge or a Monsanto billboard, it's just a hop, skip and a jump away. Once you're in, it will feel like decades of your life have passed by - so take the time to enjoy every special second.
Ohio is a special land. Very. Filled with...special things. Like the most boring scenery you have ever seen in your life. Like you might want to just stop off at one of their fast food chain restaurants to get a plastic fork so you can poke your eyes with it. That kind of boring.
Now this wouldn't be so hideous (although hideous actually might be an understatement) if you could just zoom on through it. No, no, no. In Ohio, they want you to ENJOY their special ed state by making you go the speed of a blind and lame wombat throughout their land. They have a special 65 mph speed limit. Some places have a 55 mph speed limit! For real. When was the last time your state had that? Like 1991? Something like that, I bet. Ohio is sooooo 1990...or something.
 |
| Look! Ohio is hangin' with the times! Go fast, go 55! |
 |
| Georgey boy! Watch your driving! |
Then, you can drive down the expressway with views of interesting companies with names like GROB. Have you ever watched Ren and Stimpy? Remember the "log commercial"? Sing along with me - it's GROB, it's GROB, it's big, it's heavy, it's wood - it's GROB, it's GROB, it's better than bad, it's good! Hi, I work for GROB and my name is Bob. My boss' name is Borg. We report to Brog. The other guy who works here is Barf. Or Bart. Whatever. So, that was some good entertainment. For like four minutes.
Oh! But wait! If you want to be entertained - you need to watch for decorated overpasses. It is very important in Ohio to decorate your overpasses. I think maybe there is a special and secret competition. I think the (plentiful) state police come around and give you a ticket if you didn't decorate your bridge fancily enough. They have large city names plastered across them (because exit signs are clearly not enough) and sometimes they design plants in a pattern around them. It is very special. I wonder if the state police vote you off of the island if you don't sass up your overpass.
Have I mentioned the toll roads? Oh, silly toll roads. Great idea for the government, though. Here, pay some taxes and we'll fix up the roads. Hold up, homeboy! Oh, you want to drive on it? That's not how we roll here the Ohio! You've gotta pay up. Suckas!!! You didn't think you'd get to actually driiiive on it just because you paid the taxes to build it in the first place, right? It's like a roller coaster at the fair. And in Ohioland, you just pay up every time you want to ride that special ride. Aren't we having fun now?
There's also special places like Cleveland. If you haven't seen the youtube on Cleveland (Julie D - you've GOTTA see this one), you are missing out. "See our river that catches on fire, it's so polluted that all our fish have A.I.D.S., our main export is crippling depression, don't slow down in East Cleveland or you'll die..." I won't take away the surprise punchline. It's a good one. And it's true.
The last two are equally disturbing in our quest of the exploration of Ohioland.
 |
| A buck eye. Of course. |
One, easy to guess: Ohio State University. (shudder) There's really nothing left to say besides everyone is proud to be a "Buckeye". A buck's eye? Of a deer? Um, okay. Cool. And the colors are red and white. Like a bloodshot eyeball. You're even tiring out the deer in your state, for crying out loud! Unless you mean a dollar's eyeball. Which maybe has something to do with your toll roads. You sure are proud of those things, eh? Good job, Ohio government.
 |
| Found on etsy.com. What the billboard ought to have said... |
In full 1990 fashion.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
The amazing incredible edible...community garden?
Have you ever heard of Pam Warhurst? She's an Englishwoman (I love English people! Hello Andrea!!) who started up an entire movement that is sweeping across the nation and the world that started at her kitchen table.
This amazing woman decided with her friends/family to make some gardens in her community that everyone could get on board with and help take care of (voluntarily) and eat from. They started off getting bits of land (one she refers to as "a [former] dog toilet") and doing some raised beds and planting fruits and veggies (she calls them "veg", I like that better). It has turned into a community movement where people are working with the schools, kids are getting on board, learning and truly "getting their hands dirty" in community work and in agriculture. They're learning how to be self-sufficient instead of trying to beat their old score on whatever the new video game thing is (FarmVille? Ha ha ha!). This stuff turned over into the business sector - they're getting their fruits and veg (Isn't it nicer that way? Say it in your best English accent! She is from northern England, so if you're used to perfecting your accent by listening to a lovely Londoner, you might have to rework it if you'd like to copy her, although she does say "car park", which brings me good memories.) and bringing them into their cafes and little shops and guess what? Business is skyrocketing! People want to eat locally. They put up chalkboards and showed what they were offering from Incredible Edible and in came the money. They've made a whole community project that is replicable, doable and helps your community build real community (!), fosters the local economy, educates the people, and in their case, they've even made a tourist attraction out of their city!
Wouldn't it be cool to have that going on in your community? Wouldn't you love to be self-sustaining, educated, self-reliant, working with neighbors for a common cause? This whole thing started at her kitchen table. Imagine what you could do! Bring your ideas out! You never know where it might take you!
If you want to hear this funny lady (and practice your northern English accent), she has a lecture that is 13 minutes long over on TED. I don't usually post videos because I know people will be like, eh, no, don't have 13 minutes, never mind... But if you do perchance have 13 minutes, it is worth your time. Even if you don't have a passion for food, bringing people together, or educating your community, you can be inspired by her ground-up approach and imagine for yourself what you might like to get going in your own neck of our little blue-green planet. JUST DO IT.
http://www.ted.com/talks/pam_warhurst_how_we_can_eat_our_landscapes.html
This amazing woman decided with her friends/family to make some gardens in her community that everyone could get on board with and help take care of (voluntarily) and eat from. They started off getting bits of land (one she refers to as "a [former] dog toilet") and doing some raised beds and planting fruits and veggies (she calls them "veg", I like that better). It has turned into a community movement where people are working with the schools, kids are getting on board, learning and truly "getting their hands dirty" in community work and in agriculture. They're learning how to be self-sufficient instead of trying to beat their old score on whatever the new video game thing is (FarmVille? Ha ha ha!). This stuff turned over into the business sector - they're getting their fruits and veg (Isn't it nicer that way? Say it in your best English accent! She is from northern England, so if you're used to perfecting your accent by listening to a lovely Londoner, you might have to rework it if you'd like to copy her, although she does say "car park", which brings me good memories.) and bringing them into their cafes and little shops and guess what? Business is skyrocketing! People want to eat locally. They put up chalkboards and showed what they were offering from Incredible Edible and in came the money. They've made a whole community project that is replicable, doable and helps your community build real community (!), fosters the local economy, educates the people, and in their case, they've even made a tourist attraction out of their city!
Wouldn't it be cool to have that going on in your community? Wouldn't you love to be self-sustaining, educated, self-reliant, working with neighbors for a common cause? This whole thing started at her kitchen table. Imagine what you could do! Bring your ideas out! You never know where it might take you!
If you want to hear this funny lady (and practice your northern English accent), she has a lecture that is 13 minutes long over on TED. I don't usually post videos because I know people will be like, eh, no, don't have 13 minutes, never mind... But if you do perchance have 13 minutes, it is worth your time. Even if you don't have a passion for food, bringing people together, or educating your community, you can be inspired by her ground-up approach and imagine for yourself what you might like to get going in your own neck of our little blue-green planet. JUST DO IT.
http://www.ted.com/talks/pam_warhurst_how_we_can_eat_our_landscapes.html
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Poor Hubby
My hubby had a birthday a coupleish weeks ago. We were traveling around and usually we have a shindig to invite the peeps of the fam over to partaaay, but this was not to be since we were gone and then the peeps were gone, and etc. So it did not happen. And probably that was the reason he got so few phone calls saying happy birthday (or cards, or presents).
I mean his parents and my parents (and our grandmas, the awesomesauces that they are) remembered, but that was pretty much it. Well, one of his siblings remembered. And that was it. Then his birthday was over, just as fast as it started, as nonchalant as that - just like it was a nothing day!
Now he was all patient and fine and whatevering it and he hasn't mentioned it since, but CAN I JUST TELL YOU somethin' up in HEREEEEE, if that were me, um no. I'd be calling my freakin' brother and saying, HEY IDIOT, YOU FORGOT TO SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME. YOU BETTER HAVE MY PRESENT HERE STAT OR ONE OF THOSE BILLY MADISON STYLE FLAMING BAGS IS GONNA END UP ON YOUR FRONT PORCH! (Can I get a witness up in HERE!) And then I would text everyone else I know and told them it was my birthday and ask them what kind of special pink and glittering present they got for me.
But perhaps that does not happen to me so much because I call and give everyone a countdown from like 3 weeks out and set beeping reminders on people's phones.
Yes. Well. And maybe also that when it comes to love languages he could care less about getting presents and I am more like a four year-old at Christmas. He's all chillaxed, whatevering it, and I'm all gonna freak out on peeps. We're kinda different.
But I suppose that's what makes relationships work, having different pieces and balance going on. Like, for example, he balances me out in that if I didn't have him, I would have painted every room in the house in bright pink paint and thrown glitter on it. And if it weren't for me, he would have no clean clothes ever. Ever. He doesn't even know what those two machines are down in the dungeon. And he has tempered my tendency to freak out when...anything/everything happens. (Ex: my dog eating my zucchini plant. The whole thing. And then pooping it out, looking exactly the same way it went in. Today. Or when a kid takes and "organizes" my things to random disappering places - WHERE IS MY USB DRIVE?! ANYONE? BUELER??)
Okay, okay, anyway. We are clearly awesomesauce together. So be thankful for the peeps in your life and ponder the balance they give you. Tell them that you appreciate them. AND WISH THEM A HAPPY BIRTHDAY. You know, on their birthdays. And give them kombucha.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Random Nancy Perkins
This is about to be random. Yeah, you're like, +ahem+, you're always random. Yep, I know. It may be even random-er.
1. Essential oils are flammable. Very. And you'd think they were, you know, what - with that word "oil" in there and everything. So when you add them to let's say, a tea light candle, just for kicks...to see if it will smell up the place - the answer is yes, it will smell the place up like burnt smoking soot and on-fire oil. In case you wanted to experiment to see what would happen, let me recommend to you that you not do it. Stick them straight into the warmer thingy thing with the tea light underneath. Works way better - if that whole pleasant smell is what you're after.
2. I went to a large gathering today. I saw one of the best grammatical errors there in a long time. It was GREAT. Well meaning people were labeling (which I totally appreciate, by the way) containers to tell you what kind of drink was in there. This very sweet person wrote these two:
"Kool Aid" and "Lemon Aid"
Which I was really thankful for, I had a whole bunch of lemons in the car, all hurting and in need of special aid. I was wondering what was in there, perhaps bandages, little zesters in case of special operative emergency situations (like if a lemon surgeon needed to see what was going on below the pith), maybe some ice for bruises or whatever. I didn't look inside, though. I guess I like my suffering lemons too much to peek inside the special party kit for them.
3. Please do not tell me what is in Bon Ami (the powdery cleaner). I know it is vintage, it's probably some radioactive fallout or something, but it works GREAT. It does not contain bleach (so what IS it?! no, no, not really - DO NOT TELL ME) but I am serious, I think it is the magic ingredient in the Magic Erasers. I put some of that wild stuff on a wash cloth and that stuff whitened up my dirty, disgusting walls, the floor boards, the door, plenty of things. I was just telling my hubster how discouraged I was. You see, we used to have a clean house. I mean sparkling, eat off of the floors clean. Almost eat out of the toilet clean. Now we have a dog who believes it is her inherent right - nay! duty! - to proliferate herself in any possible way, mostly via shedding an amount of fur that would make any thinking person wonder if she believed in reincarnation and was trying to do that herself. I am pretty sure she sheds a ball of hair that could be shaped into another entire dog daily. Anyway, I was all sad, picking up hair, scrubbing floors, scrubbing walls, dusting, wistfully thinking back to the good-ole-days, asking why was it never so perfectly clean as it used to be? And then as I scrubbed the gray film off of the walls and floor boards, I knew why. BECAUSE IT WAS VERY VERY DIRTY IN HERE, mostly due to a nasty, pancreatic acid-lacking ratty dog. (Don't worry, I only wax disdainful toward said pet when I am cleaning the house or cleaning her and her cage due to a large amount of dog poo slathered all over herself and it, for example: today.)
4. Bentonite clay made into a facial mix for your zits, while fun, elicits many responses from family members. Stuff like, "What is that stuff on your head?", "Do you know you have weird stuff on your head?", "You have some weird junk on your head.", "When are you going to take that weird stuff off of your head?", "What in the world is that weird junk stuck to your head?" and finally, "Can I touch it?"
5. Last one. Back to the large gathering. The party was coming to a close. A thoughtful, well-educated, pensive man commented, "Is there anything sadder than a deflated bouncy house?" I answered, "Um, I dunno, maybe a dead clown?" I'm pretty sure they're going to take up some sort of collection for me to go to a professional psychotherapist.
See, told ya it was random. ;) And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming. (Don't you like it when people spell it "programme"? It's so fancy!)
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Oh rats! (and a perpetual fire)
Okay, so. I live in a neighborhood where peeps are trying to get the heck out. In that effort, some people just leave. Pack up and go find somewhere else. This leaves a pile of empty and foreclosed homes. Now let me tell you who loves this: not me. But rats, oh baby, rats dig this. Which, I'm pretty sure, makes this place even more appealing. It really does(N'T!!). But if you are a rat family looking to build a home, this is the perfect place. You can get yourself a 3 bedroom fix-er-upper for no money down! Well, anyway.
In an effort to keep the people population greater than the rat population, the local government has put safeguards into place (because they are trying to avoid the Guiness book for Rat City, USA). One of these safeguards is that all peeps with firewood must dispose of it immediately. Like yesterday. Like unless you like rat-a-tat-tats nibbling out posh apartment buildings with their cheese-chompers. I was a bit bummed to lose firewood, but the thought of rats singing the theme song to the Jeffersons in my backyard made me feel even worse so I had to come up with the disposal plan. I would really like to chip it up, get some lovely mulch, so let's explore that. The local handy dandy hardware store will be oh-so-generous and allow me to rent a chipper for around $200 (don't forget the insurance and tax - oooowwwwww!!!! My leg!!!! Wait, why do they require insurance again?). Perhaps no. Maybe some tree service peeps will be strolling this way with a chipper and want to do me a flavor (yes, I said flavor) and chipper it upper. They'll get back to me on that (a la don't call us, we'll call you).
Then it happened. The cheapness thought struck. Burn baby, burn! So around somewhere in the middle of the morning, I began celebrating the end of summer with a bonfire. And rat apartment nation negation began. It ended sometime over twelve hours later, a hunk of ratty wood here, a hunk of ratty wood there. I woke up this morning and tossed the paper garbage in that empty fire pit and viola! The fire woke up again and started burning. Might as well toss on another log. Or two. Or fifteen.
I am pretty sure the energy output I've got going on over here could pretty much fuel El Salvador for a month. In the winter. Where its...88 degrees every...day...nevermind...
I meant fuel all of Alaska. For 12 minutes. In the summer. If only I had a tube that could send all of this energy that way. Oh well. One can have lofty goals, now, eh?
For me, for now, I shall sit here, relaxin' with my tower-o-flame and ponder the important things of life with a glass of kombucha, for example, how did early people discover fire in the first place? Why do rats multiply faster than anything? Why does that neighbor's dog weigh 200 pounds? What subset of the populace could I get to like rats singing the Jefferson's theme song enough that I could make money on it? All very ponderous man, really ponderous.
I remain, yours truly - peace, love and kombucha,
Ms. Daisy
In an effort to keep the people population greater than the rat population, the local government has put safeguards into place (because they are trying to avoid the Guiness book for Rat City, USA). One of these safeguards is that all peeps with firewood must dispose of it immediately. Like yesterday. Like unless you like rat-a-tat-tats nibbling out posh apartment buildings with their cheese-chompers. I was a bit bummed to lose firewood, but the thought of rats singing the theme song to the Jeffersons in my backyard made me feel even worse so I had to come up with the disposal plan. I would really like to chip it up, get some lovely mulch, so let's explore that. The local handy dandy hardware store will be oh-so-generous and allow me to rent a chipper for around $200 (don't forget the insurance and tax - oooowwwwww!!!! My leg!!!! Wait, why do they require insurance again?). Perhaps no. Maybe some tree service peeps will be strolling this way with a chipper and want to do me a flavor (yes, I said flavor) and chipper it upper. They'll get back to me on that (a la don't call us, we'll call you).
Then it happened. The cheapness thought struck. Burn baby, burn! So around somewhere in the middle of the morning, I began celebrating the end of summer with a bonfire. And rat apartment nation negation began. It ended sometime over twelve hours later, a hunk of ratty wood here, a hunk of ratty wood there. I woke up this morning and tossed the paper garbage in that empty fire pit and viola! The fire woke up again and started burning. Might as well toss on another log. Or two. Or fifteen.
I am pretty sure the energy output I've got going on over here could pretty much fuel El Salvador for a month. In the winter. Where its...88 degrees every...day...nevermind...
I meant fuel all of Alaska. For 12 minutes. In the summer. If only I had a tube that could send all of this energy that way. Oh well. One can have lofty goals, now, eh?
For me, for now, I shall sit here, relaxin' with my tower-o-flame and ponder the important things of life with a glass of kombucha, for example, how did early people discover fire in the first place? Why do rats multiply faster than anything? Why does that neighbor's dog weigh 200 pounds? What subset of the populace could I get to like rats singing the Jefferson's theme song enough that I could make money on it? All very ponderous man, really ponderous.
I remain, yours truly - peace, love and kombucha,
Ms. Daisy
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Nope, still no.
Have you ever done something you wish that you didn't do?
No. Of course YOU haven't. So let me tell you about a time when I did.
Just so you can sympathize. Even though you don't really know what that would be like. So just humor me.
Okay, here we go.
So, I love food. And wait - I mean food. Real food. Not quasi-food-like-substances. Food that Michael Pollan considers food. Food that Joel Salatin would be proud of. Do you get me? If no - what I'm saying is - food that God made, not food that some crazy dude made up in a lab (high fructose corn syrup, partially hydrogenated oils, TBHQ, rBST, BHT, maltodextrin, canola oil, GMO corn/soy/sugar beets/rats, whatever.).
Due to my food-loving nature, I have a mini-garden (I pretend it's a farm in my imagination) where I decided to plant the usual variety of things. One of these things is sweet peppers. Cool. Fairly benign, you say. I reply, "FOR YOU, MAYBE!!!"
You see, I like sweet peppers. But the feeling is not mutual. Those sweet peppers became my enemy out of the blue a little over half of a decade ago and they've never looked back. They're like this petty vengeful teenage girl who flirts with your boyfriend just for spite. (Proper responses to that qualm shall not be discussed here, but I can assure you that they may or may not involve an exorbitant amount of creativity.) They're like a sick, evil little thing that pretends it's all nicey-nicey and then BAM! Well, it's not too polite to discuss the rest.
So I did a dumb thing. I had this lovely sweet and sour chicken recipe, oh, isn't it LOVELY, it has some green onions and some sweet peppers, oh yes, I think I'll make it, it's so lovely, let me go out to the garden and pick some lovely ingredients for my lovely dinner. Yes, I failed. You see, I thought the thought you should never think. I thought, "THIS TIME IT WILL BE DIFFERENT."
This time, the peppers won't do that to me! No! I grew them with my own two sweaty, dirty hands! These are ORGANIC! These have been lovingly been taken care of! These little monsters are nice! These aren't made in some factory, full of sweaty, angry, spitting people! These are nice ones, grown in the sunshine of my very own (ratty?) backyard. This time it will be different!!
THIS TIME WAS NOT DIFFERENT.
THIS TIME WAS EXACTLY THE SAME.
It had been nary an hour - AN HOUR - and my stomach began to speak to me. It said, "Excuse me, person? Yes, you up there? Hi. Can you just tell me something? Would you please tell me if you may have eaten some bites of a sweet pepper?"
Then it began to shout, "Hello! Yeah, you up there! Yo! Sucka! What the what did you feed me!?"
Five or so-ish hours later, my stomach was no longer my own. It had turned into an exorcist, fiercefully trying to rid itself of some invisible (okay, more like green and sweet peppery-shaped) demon. At this betrayal, I began asking the dumbest question everrrr, "Why!??" (p.s. Yes, there are dumb questions. Just ask ANY teacher.) Then the other part of my brain started answering, "You know why! Are you even kidding me right now?"
"B..b..but, but, but I...I thought..."
"No. No ya didn't. That's yer problem right there. You DIDN'T think."
"But..but...I grew it and I thought it was going to be different! Waaaaah!"
And then the back talkin' smart part of me did that one rendition of the Geico commercial where the army commander guy pretends to be a psychiatrist and throws a Kleenex box at the sniveling idiot who is laying on the couch saying why the color yellow makes him sad.
Sigh. Well.
Yes. We see here the definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Ahem.
Maybe next time if I drink kombucha first...? Nah, never mind...
Anyway - peace, love and kombucha,
Ms. Daisy
No. Of course YOU haven't. So let me tell you about a time when I did.
Just so you can sympathize. Even though you don't really know what that would be like. So just humor me.
Okay, here we go.
So, I love food. And wait - I mean food. Real food. Not quasi-food-like-substances. Food that Michael Pollan considers food. Food that Joel Salatin would be proud of. Do you get me? If no - what I'm saying is - food that God made, not food that some crazy dude made up in a lab (high fructose corn syrup, partially hydrogenated oils, TBHQ, rBST, BHT, maltodextrin, canola oil, GMO corn/soy/sugar beets/rats, whatever.).
Due to my food-loving nature, I have a mini-garden (I pretend it's a farm in my imagination) where I decided to plant the usual variety of things. One of these things is sweet peppers. Cool. Fairly benign, you say. I reply, "FOR YOU, MAYBE!!!"
You see, I like sweet peppers. But the feeling is not mutual. Those sweet peppers became my enemy out of the blue a little over half of a decade ago and they've never looked back. They're like this petty vengeful teenage girl who flirts with your boyfriend just for spite. (Proper responses to that qualm shall not be discussed here, but I can assure you that they may or may not involve an exorbitant amount of creativity.) They're like a sick, evil little thing that pretends it's all nicey-nicey and then BAM! Well, it's not too polite to discuss the rest.
So I did a dumb thing. I had this lovely sweet and sour chicken recipe, oh, isn't it LOVELY, it has some green onions and some sweet peppers, oh yes, I think I'll make it, it's so lovely, let me go out to the garden and pick some lovely ingredients for my lovely dinner. Yes, I failed. You see, I thought the thought you should never think. I thought, "THIS TIME IT WILL BE DIFFERENT."
This time, the peppers won't do that to me! No! I grew them with my own two sweaty, dirty hands! These are ORGANIC! These have been lovingly been taken care of! These little monsters are nice! These aren't made in some factory, full of sweaty, angry, spitting people! These are nice ones, grown in the sunshine of my very own (ratty?) backyard. This time it will be different!!
THIS TIME WAS NOT DIFFERENT.
THIS TIME WAS EXACTLY THE SAME.
It had been nary an hour - AN HOUR - and my stomach began to speak to me. It said, "Excuse me, person? Yes, you up there? Hi. Can you just tell me something? Would you please tell me if you may have eaten some bites of a sweet pepper?"
Then it began to shout, "Hello! Yeah, you up there! Yo! Sucka! What the what did you feed me!?"
Five or so-ish hours later, my stomach was no longer my own. It had turned into an exorcist, fiercefully trying to rid itself of some invisible (okay, more like green and sweet peppery-shaped) demon. At this betrayal, I began asking the dumbest question everrrr, "Why!??" (p.s. Yes, there are dumb questions. Just ask ANY teacher.) Then the other part of my brain started answering, "You know why! Are you even kidding me right now?"
"B..b..but, but, but I...I thought..."
"No. No ya didn't. That's yer problem right there. You DIDN'T think."
"But..but...I grew it and I thought it was going to be different! Waaaaah!"
And then the back talkin' smart part of me did that one rendition of the Geico commercial where the army commander guy pretends to be a psychiatrist and throws a Kleenex box at the sniveling idiot who is laying on the couch saying why the color yellow makes him sad.
Sigh. Well.
Yes. We see here the definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Ahem.
Maybe next time if I drink kombucha first...? Nah, never mind...
Anyway - peace, love and kombucha,
Ms. Daisy
Friday, August 24, 2012
Dollar Store Death
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| It can buy you oh-so-much! |
So, there I was, following my sister into the dollar store. She is a new teacher this year (and she is going to be fabulous, by the way, I know you didn't have any doubt anyway, but I just had to make it clear for all-a-y'all.) and we were looking for those thingies that go on your desk that has your name on it. You've seen them, those name label-thingies in every elementary classroom 'round this good earth with the names in perfect printing or cursive of each of the little darlins who will sit there and make that desk home for the nine months to come. So, anyway, we were in luck, and they had a section of it in multiple colors (Hooray! I totally tried to get her to buy the ones with pink it in but she went with primary colors. She's practical like that. PSH! Boys will just love their new pink nametags! Er, well, perhaps no.). Then we went to walk around and see if there was anything else we could get on a bargain.
That's when I noticed something. All of the food products were...well...how shall I put this delicately? Ah yes, poison. They were poison. High fructose corn syrup laden, mixin' in with all the partially hydrogenated oils you could shake a stick at - not to mention polysorbate 20, 40, 60 and 80. They were probably inventing polysorbates just to put in there for dollar store convenience (Look! NEW! Now with Polysorbate 124!). Then, we meandered away from the polysorbates to the parabens in the health and beauty section and finally over to the collection of oodles and oodles of bpa plastics.
In their defense, I did see some things that I have a slight obsession over - that is, glass jars. Why am I in love with glass jars? Not sure, but, alas, I am. Maybe so I can store some kombucha in there...mmm...kombucha...be right back...
Aahh, kombucha. Now where was I? Ah yes, glass jars... No, poison. Yes.
So then I got to thinking, who goes to these stores mainly? Probably old people, they love bargains. Probably poor people, they don't want to spend a lot of money on stuff. If you combine these two, you get a subsection of our society that is usually left without much of a voice because they are considered weaker than the rest. (Well, besides the occasional teacher - they're not weak - they just get paid like $5/hour to teach, referee, counsel, feed, console, etc. everyone else's children for 7 hours a day, 5 days a week, 40 weeks a year, don't even get me started...) And you know what? I think that's wrong. The corporations who are in love with cheap labor in China are manufacturing this garbage and pumping it out (like it's a pollutant into their nearby river) to the weakest members of our society. In the words of Solomon, (repudiated to be the wisest man who has ever lived!) collected in the book we call Proverbs, he says, "Whoever mocks the poor insults his Maker; he who is glad at calamity will not go unpunished." (Proverbs 17:5) and "Whoever oppresses the poor to increase his own wealth, or gives to the rich, will only come to poverty." (Proverbs 22:16) Now, I'm not all about going crazy and turning the Gospel (translation: good news) into a social justice issue here, I'm just saying I think there's something messed up going on.
Now, I'm not going to have a fit on you if you want to go to the dollar store, I'm just here to encourage you to think about things. Does this issue bother you? Do you think it's anyone's choice to shop there if they want to or not, so if they want to use that stuff, that's their problem and we shouldn't even worry about it? You tell me.
Something to think about, perhaps.
And now, back to the kombucha.
Peace, love and kombucha,
Ms. Daisy
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