Have you ever made homemade granola bars? Well if you haven't, YOU SO SHOULD. But - I've read quite a few recipes and they all contain a poisonous and deadly horror: GMO (genetically modified organism) canola oil, the wolf in sheep's clothing for the health industry.
So is it ironic to anyone else that canola oil is like the cape-wearing savior of our heart-diseased era? Canola oil is made from - are you even ready for this? Something called RAPESEED. I am not kidding. Yep, they coulda called it rapeseed oil, but instead they made it come down from the glowing heights with an innocuous name like "canola". Gee, I think it's origin was quite a bit more appropriate.
So this is what bugs me. Canola oil is pretty much hanging out there with the big three (and I don't mean Chrysler, Ford and GM) of the GMO club: corn, soy and sugarbeets. It's up there in the dishonorable mention category along with cotton and tomatoes.
Have you heard/read the studies about GMO stuff? It is so sick it would blow your mind. You would wonder how people could get away with such junk.
I wonder that pretty much every day.
So the studies were done to test what might happen generationally to rats who were fed GMO corn. (Others have done studies using hamsters and GMO soy with the same results.) In the third generation of rats consuming GMO corn, the rats were born with hair growing out of their mouth, deformed and shrunken testicles and were found to be 100% completely sterile. It sounds like this is something out of a fiction sci-fi novel and it's actually out of a scientific journal. Your grandkids will be living in a world of aliens that sick pervos made that will stem back to this generation. Well, supposing we didn't blow up the world by then since we're not improving any lately.
Check it out for yourself: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jeffrey-smith/genetically-modified-soy_b_544575.html
That link shows pictures, if you want to be totally grossed out.
Do you want to know what happened to one of the scientists? She had her stuff ransacked, burned and then she was fired. Huh. Sounds like someone might not like what she found. Sounds like that someone clearly would not want YOU finding out more about it.
To that, I say - fight the power, my dearies. We can make a difference. Do you know how much consumer power we have in our little pockets? One of us might not be able to do a lot with what we have, but if all of us step up and say no, we won't buy it, guess what? The greedy moneybagsters up at the top will see their profits dwindling and have to do something else. Like perhaps, stop poisoning people.
And not to put too fine a point on it - if you are a parent - I beg and implore you, please, please, PLEASE refuse to feed your children GMO products. If you want to consume it yourself and be sterile and get funky cancers and crazy crap for yourself, go ahead. But they don't have a choice. If your parents sterilized you with weird poison they gave you as a kid, once you became a married adult ready to have a family, you'd be hurt beyond words. Don't be lazy about it. They are your responsibility, you are the ones to answer for how you've cared for them. If it's not on the label and it contains any corn/soy/sugar/canola, look up the company, get some contact information and ask them if they source non-GMO corn/soy/sugar/canola. This is bigger than bPA, bigger than partially hydrogenated oils, bigger than the whole pile because if you ignore this one - the whole world won't be here in a few generations. Apocalypse impending. Hello?
Okay, I gotta climb down off of my soapbox for now and get the granola bars out of the oven. What do I bake with? Melted butter or coconut oil.
It doesn't take a crunchy granola person to want to survive, it just takes someone with half of a sense of self-preservation and using their brain. Don't cop out on me on this one. It matters.
Make your granola and be granola! Or, just preserve your progeny and skip the science experiment (that they're trying out on you). Either way.
Peace, love and crunch louder!
Ms. Daisy
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Hope elsewhere
If you have been awake anytime at all over the last few days, you have likely heard of the very sad events that happened in Connecticut where a crazed (bipolar/autistic) young person murdered teachers and 6 and 7 year-old children. Disturbing does not even begin to describe the situation. Then you may have heard the current president speak on the topic of gun control. He hasn't been specific, but I hope by gun control he means give every public and private school teacher a gun and training so that they may protect the little ones in their care (since they do pretty much everything else for children, anyway). Basically, it would be like having your teacher be a police officer and a teacher all in one.
Anyway, now that half of you fell out of your chair and onto the ground in utter disbelief, climb back up, grab a pillow and throw that on the floor so you can be ready to fall over again in the rest of the post.
Ready? Great.
So here's the thing. People react differently to tragedy, don't they? Some people are the get-back-up-brush-yourself-off-and-keep-going types, some people are the lay-in-the-mud-for-days types and anywhere in between the spectrum of nonchalant heartless snakes to lay-in-the-mud-for-life types. I am not suggesting you become either one of the extremes because this is serious stuff, my dearies. But if you look deep inside, you know (unfortunately) that things like this happen because the world is full of crazy zombies on crack. Horrible things have happened in our lives before this point, and I'm sad to say that they will happen to us again in the future.
So what's a person to do? You don't want to lay in the mud for life, but you don't want to block out all feeling (unless you're enjoying your cold heartless snakey life).
I propose a change in perspective.
When you see this world as temporary and the soul as eternal, you get this idea that this might only be a fraction of your total existence. That could be really either good for you, or really really horrid.
Now if you're not really a person who usually entertains such thoughts, just humor me for a moment. What I'm telling you is actually good news.
No, literally. I don't know if you've ever heard the word "gospel" but it actually means "good news".
So the thing is, the good news starts out with some pretty obvious bad news. Here's the bad news: you're not perfect. NEWSFLASH! Are you shocked? Probs, right?
Hang on, I've got another one - God is perfect.
I know, I'm rockin' your world, eh?
So what does that have to do with us? Kay, the bad news: if you're not perfect, you can't hang out with God in heaven. So that kinda is stinko for us. If that was the end of the story, I don't think it would be called the good news, it would be called the bad news.
But God was thinking about this ahead of time. He had a plan. So here's the deal - you can pay for your sin on your own (and the payment is eternal punishment so I'm gonna go with that might not be your number one best option) or you can accept the payment his Son made on your behalf. Sin is so serious and horrific that before Jesus died as a sacrifice, it had to be covered over with only one thing - blood. Maybe it sounds gruesome to you, but you aren't the one who gets to make the call for how it gets paid for since you're not, you know, God.
In our natural state, we just totally reject God and his ways. That's because we want to do it our way. We figure we are pretty amazing and we can probably climb up onto that throne and do a better job. That's an old story, my friend. That's what happened back in the day with Satan. He's still recruiting and it's easy since it's our natural bent.
God is not going to share his throne. It's not a free-for-all going on and it sure isn't Burger King (you can't have it your way. Did you just pout? Oh man.).
So here's the deal. You mess up, you break God's law. God sends Jesus to pay for you. You can say, "Wow, dude. This is awesome. Thank you. I totally didn't desserve this." Did you do anything special? Um, no. You just were shown mercy. You're not special, God is.
Anyway, I just wanted to shine some light in that direction. It's almost Christmas - the day Christians celebrate the lowly birth of their Savior - who would live a perfect life on earth and be killed at the hands of evil men that God's wrath might be poured out on his own Son as a sacrifice that can be applied to your account. How? Ask him. Talk to God, ask that he would forgive you for your blatant waywardness that is deserving of eternal punishment.
Thus, a hope is born. A hope that this world (in all its craziness) is on its way out but eternity is the light and the direction for those who are filled with an other-worldly hope. Not because of their own fancy pants or their brains or their choice in organic vegetables. Nope. Beause of the good news.
I know this may be a bit jumbled, perhaps, but I felt it was urgent to get it out to you. After all, if you only can rest in your organic veggies, non-GMO foods (and you know I love that stuff), you've got a piece of a puzzle in your hand and I'd love to show you the beautiful big picture. Organic and non-GMO foods are the best, but in the end, if you still die without the hope that comes from the life and death of Jesus, you're still dead and you've got a bigger problem than yellow dent #2.
Something to think about, maybe, eh?
Peace, love and I'm telling you because I love you and you ought to know,
Ms. Daisy
Anyway, now that half of you fell out of your chair and onto the ground in utter disbelief, climb back up, grab a pillow and throw that on the floor so you can be ready to fall over again in the rest of the post.
Ready? Great.
So here's the thing. People react differently to tragedy, don't they? Some people are the get-back-up-brush-yourself-off-and-keep-going types, some people are the lay-in-the-mud-for-days types and anywhere in between the spectrum of nonchalant heartless snakes to lay-in-the-mud-for-life types. I am not suggesting you become either one of the extremes because this is serious stuff, my dearies. But if you look deep inside, you know (unfortunately) that things like this happen because the world is full of crazy zombies on crack. Horrible things have happened in our lives before this point, and I'm sad to say that they will happen to us again in the future.
So what's a person to do? You don't want to lay in the mud for life, but you don't want to block out all feeling (unless you're enjoying your cold heartless snakey life).
I propose a change in perspective.
When you see this world as temporary and the soul as eternal, you get this idea that this might only be a fraction of your total existence. That could be really either good for you, or really really horrid.
Now if you're not really a person who usually entertains such thoughts, just humor me for a moment. What I'm telling you is actually good news.
No, literally. I don't know if you've ever heard the word "gospel" but it actually means "good news".
So the thing is, the good news starts out with some pretty obvious bad news. Here's the bad news: you're not perfect. NEWSFLASH! Are you shocked? Probs, right?
Hang on, I've got another one - God is perfect.
I know, I'm rockin' your world, eh?
So what does that have to do with us? Kay, the bad news: if you're not perfect, you can't hang out with God in heaven. So that kinda is stinko for us. If that was the end of the story, I don't think it would be called the good news, it would be called the bad news.
But God was thinking about this ahead of time. He had a plan. So here's the deal - you can pay for your sin on your own (and the payment is eternal punishment so I'm gonna go with that might not be your number one best option) or you can accept the payment his Son made on your behalf. Sin is so serious and horrific that before Jesus died as a sacrifice, it had to be covered over with only one thing - blood. Maybe it sounds gruesome to you, but you aren't the one who gets to make the call for how it gets paid for since you're not, you know, God.
In our natural state, we just totally reject God and his ways. That's because we want to do it our way. We figure we are pretty amazing and we can probably climb up onto that throne and do a better job. That's an old story, my friend. That's what happened back in the day with Satan. He's still recruiting and it's easy since it's our natural bent.
God is not going to share his throne. It's not a free-for-all going on and it sure isn't Burger King (you can't have it your way. Did you just pout? Oh man.).
So here's the deal. You mess up, you break God's law. God sends Jesus to pay for you. You can say, "Wow, dude. This is awesome. Thank you. I totally didn't desserve this." Did you do anything special? Um, no. You just were shown mercy. You're not special, God is.
Anyway, I just wanted to shine some light in that direction. It's almost Christmas - the day Christians celebrate the lowly birth of their Savior - who would live a perfect life on earth and be killed at the hands of evil men that God's wrath might be poured out on his own Son as a sacrifice that can be applied to your account. How? Ask him. Talk to God, ask that he would forgive you for your blatant waywardness that is deserving of eternal punishment.
Thus, a hope is born. A hope that this world (in all its craziness) is on its way out but eternity is the light and the direction for those who are filled with an other-worldly hope. Not because of their own fancy pants or their brains or their choice in organic vegetables. Nope. Beause of the good news.
I know this may be a bit jumbled, perhaps, but I felt it was urgent to get it out to you. After all, if you only can rest in your organic veggies, non-GMO foods (and you know I love that stuff), you've got a piece of a puzzle in your hand and I'd love to show you the beautiful big picture. Organic and non-GMO foods are the best, but in the end, if you still die without the hope that comes from the life and death of Jesus, you're still dead and you've got a bigger problem than yellow dent #2.
Something to think about, maybe, eh?
Peace, love and I'm telling you because I love you and you ought to know,
Ms. Daisy
Friday, December 14, 2012
Quitting Facebook
If you're like every person on earth and half of the people on Mars, it is very likely that you have your own personal facebook account. I had facebook when it was only open to college people as a way to keep in touch with my excessively much younger sister. I really don't know how I got into it, but anyway, I snuck in. I had like 13 friends and they were all my ex-students. It was interesting.
Then after many years, people my own age started joining and I was so delighted. Then a couple years later, my parents were sending me friend invitations. This was strange, especially since my mother can't upload photos to a computer and calls the internet "the blue E thingy".
I was very glad to catch up with friends I haven't seen since high school and college. I was thankful to be able to peek in on the lives of people who I've known over the course of my life, see their children, and watch how they turned out and what they're into now.
It was a great tool for my current students to ask questions and a fabulous way for me to get the fantastic single females of my life to meet the fantastic single men (of which I know like 4 and 3 are my brothers-in-law).
But then I found myself choosing to use facebook and preferring its convienence over untimely actual human interaction. I thought that was kind of lame of me, if I actually thought about it. Not to mention all the things I wasn't getting done because I was busy reading status updates and spying on people. When I put it that way, it sounded even lamer. And highly unproductive. Oh I hate unproductive.
So I took a sabbatical. I made bread and cleaned my house instead. I read books. I studied Finnish and Latin. And dude, it was a lot better.
But I missed the people I only get to see on facebook. So I went back. Some people I only really talk to on facebook, not because I don't love them, but just because time and distance and situations make it so we just don't talk anymore because we don't share a life together in the everyday mix.
I thought about this a lot. People are important. Relationships make up the good colorful fabric of life. So would I be missing out on their important news? That isn't cool. After a long time of thinking about it and wanting to be real, productive and responsible, I decided I really ought to jump ship and quit.
But I couldn't do it since I was totally addicted.
So I thought about that too. I'm seriously addicted to something? That is sick. And wrong. And mental. And unhealthy. Something is controlling me instead of me being in control of it. It's like a hoarder in their filth, they just gotta have it around, even though they know it's healthier without it. I'm a sicko, just like a hoarder! AAAAAHHHH!!!
Well, I hung on anyway, trying to find some good reasons to have it but to just keep it to a minimum.
And then it happened.
My motivation came, full force and shoved me over the edge. It arrived in the form of "timeline".
Timeline took hours of my life to load. I do not have cable speed internet. My internet is half of a step up from dial-up. Timeline was the nail in the coffin.
I no longer needed to wonder whether or not I should dump it. It was clear and fabulous and I was free, FREE, FREEEEE!
The hour I was forced into timeline was the hour I quit facebook for good. That was the summer and I haven't looked back since. I only have very short twinges of regret when I miss people. But overall it's much better. Can you remember life before facebook? It's kind of nice. You might like it.
And if you're one of those people, I miss you! But you should totally quit, too. We can communicate the old-fashioned way - texting. Just like back in the day, eh?
Peace, love and footloose and facebook-free!
Ms. Daisy
p.s. Pardon my lack of capitalization of facebook. I debate whether or not I should capitalize it. I know it's a proper noun, so tradition tells me I ought to. But then the logo is lowercase, so are you staying more true to it by keeping it without a cap? It's a quandry that I don't know yet where I ought to stand. Please don't think me an ignorant moose, thinking I know nothing about proper nouns and capitalization, it was a purposeful elimination because I erred on the side of keeping it true to its logo. Ah, eck.
Then after many years, people my own age started joining and I was so delighted. Then a couple years later, my parents were sending me friend invitations. This was strange, especially since my mother can't upload photos to a computer and calls the internet "the blue E thingy".
I was very glad to catch up with friends I haven't seen since high school and college. I was thankful to be able to peek in on the lives of people who I've known over the course of my life, see their children, and watch how they turned out and what they're into now.
It was a great tool for my current students to ask questions and a fabulous way for me to get the fantastic single females of my life to meet the fantastic single men (of which I know like 4 and 3 are my brothers-in-law).
But then I found myself choosing to use facebook and preferring its convienence over untimely actual human interaction. I thought that was kind of lame of me, if I actually thought about it. Not to mention all the things I wasn't getting done because I was busy reading status updates and spying on people. When I put it that way, it sounded even lamer. And highly unproductive. Oh I hate unproductive.
So I took a sabbatical. I made bread and cleaned my house instead. I read books. I studied Finnish and Latin. And dude, it was a lot better.
But I missed the people I only get to see on facebook. So I went back. Some people I only really talk to on facebook, not because I don't love them, but just because time and distance and situations make it so we just don't talk anymore because we don't share a life together in the everyday mix.
I thought about this a lot. People are important. Relationships make up the good colorful fabric of life. So would I be missing out on their important news? That isn't cool. After a long time of thinking about it and wanting to be real, productive and responsible, I decided I really ought to jump ship and quit.
But I couldn't do it since I was totally addicted.
So I thought about that too. I'm seriously addicted to something? That is sick. And wrong. And mental. And unhealthy. Something is controlling me instead of me being in control of it. It's like a hoarder in their filth, they just gotta have it around, even though they know it's healthier without it. I'm a sicko, just like a hoarder! AAAAAHHHH!!!
Well, I hung on anyway, trying to find some good reasons to have it but to just keep it to a minimum.
And then it happened.
My motivation came, full force and shoved me over the edge. It arrived in the form of "timeline".
Timeline took hours of my life to load. I do not have cable speed internet. My internet is half of a step up from dial-up. Timeline was the nail in the coffin.
I no longer needed to wonder whether or not I should dump it. It was clear and fabulous and I was free, FREE, FREEEEE!
The hour I was forced into timeline was the hour I quit facebook for good. That was the summer and I haven't looked back since. I only have very short twinges of regret when I miss people. But overall it's much better. Can you remember life before facebook? It's kind of nice. You might like it.
And if you're one of those people, I miss you! But you should totally quit, too. We can communicate the old-fashioned way - texting. Just like back in the day, eh?
Peace, love and footloose and facebook-free!
Ms. Daisy
p.s. Pardon my lack of capitalization of facebook. I debate whether or not I should capitalize it. I know it's a proper noun, so tradition tells me I ought to. But then the logo is lowercase, so are you staying more true to it by keeping it without a cap? It's a quandry that I don't know yet where I ought to stand. Please don't think me an ignorant moose, thinking I know nothing about proper nouns and capitalization, it was a purposeful elimination because I erred on the side of keeping it true to its logo. Ah, eck.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Toothpicks, glue and prison reform
Think of the worst thing you could possibly have to do. Shovel dog doo-doo? Squirt dog doo-doo with a hose because it is a cowpie? Do a 1,000 piece puzzle? No, worse, worse, and worse.
Go deep. Dig. I mean something along the lines of waterboarding. What could be worse than this?
Let me tell you exactly what is worse than this.
Having to make a toothpick bridge with Elmers glue for a child's project.
So apparently I got an email about a month ago informing me that my offspring ought to be just chugging right along on their toothpick bridge project (a what?!), so I said, great. That sounds horrible. I'm glad I don't have to do it!
I received a follow-up email that said hopefully the said offspring is near completed with said project (last night - since it's due in 2 days). Panic begins as I ask offspring what the deal is and how it's coming along. Panic increases towards hyperventilation as offspring procures a ziplock bag of 2 boxes of 750 flat toothpicks and a bottle of Elmers. There is nothing done. There are no plans.
This is where you make the choice. The choice to allow your child to fall flat on their face and fail (especially since this offspring couldn't fine motor their way out of a paper bag) or where you veer off into Neverneverland as you hear phrases come out of your mouth that you have a vague recollection of hearing before somewhere in your childhood in the form of something sounding like the voice of your mother/father. This is where arm-flailing becomes a sport and sighing it's cheerleading companion, where mumbling and raking your hands through your hair is no longer dramatic, but seems the only way you could survive such a horrid ordeal. This is where you picture the teacher laughing as they assigned this sick torture and your blood begins to surge into your temples because all you want to do is put up your freakin Christmas tree and instead you have to deal with glue and toothpicks. But you are a teacher, too, and no assignment will ever be willingly overlooked, so it's time to jump in, both feet.
This is the point at which I decide there must be an easier way. There must be weird sickos out there who like this sort of torture (architects, engineers, etc.), and who are they and how can I bribe them to do this for me? Let's go easiest first: ebay. Does anyone have these things for sale? Crap! Why not?!!!
Let me just tell you - if you are one of those weird sickos, PUT THOSE THINGS ON EBAY!! YOU COULD BE A BAZILLIONAIRE!!! Just give me a cut for thinking of a business for you, 10% will be just fine, thank you.
Secondly, my next thought brought me to this: I live not very far from a world-class university with a fantastic engineering program, perhaps I could get one of those smart (and yet, crazy) people to do this for me. They are in college, thus, they are poor! I could pay them with food, laundry washing and money. But I don't know any of them. I did go on their college of engineering website in hopes they might just randomly list some really A+ students who didn't have a life on a Sunday night (unless you count Warcraft as a fun thing to do with your time). This also fell through.
So, I am not an engineer. I am more of the Spanish/English teacher type, actually, and that has pretty much nothing to do with engineering. I obviously did what I figured was the best plan on bridgemaking: line up a whole bunch of toothpicks in a row and pour 1/3 of the bottle of glue on top of it. My first plan was to just dump the entire box of 750 in a plastic bin and empty the glue entirely on top of it and use a hairdryer to make it dry quickly, but my hubby said no, I could not do that. I am pretty sure that is the fastest way to build a bridge, though, and surely that must count for something.
I had a kickin' row going on and my hubby and I were convinced by all these pictures on the internet that we had to make it go "upward" too, not just be a flat bottom thing. So we made triangles (that's what the cool people did) and glued them together and attached them to the bottom bridge thingie with things that look like piles of kindling wood in a huge lump. I am pretty sure this is the best way to do it. However, we still felt that this was a little embarassing and disasterous and getting more drastic every second we tried a new idea on it, so I did the only logical thing:
Text my brother and father (both engineers/retired) with this message, "engineering emergency 911 - this is supposed to be a bridge" and a picture of the fantastic thing we made.
They were not able to help, probably because they were too busy cracking up.
I would like to say to the teacher, "Do you hate me and my life?" No, no, better: "Why do you hate me and my family?"
I got to thinking about all of this torture and punishment and thought about how such a hideous idea could be put to good use. Aha! Prison reform! In order to stop the common problem of inmates being released only to be sent back to prison after a very short while, we approach them with this: you come back to jail any time soon, you have to make a freakin toothpick bridge using those and just Elmer's glue and it has to hold your weight or you can't leave. No TV, no movies, no nothin' - just you and your sticky fingers and the toothpicks that you will soon poke into your eyeballs out of sheer frustration and horror. No talking, no free time, no internet and no, you can't decorate your Christmas tree until you're finished. Wanna come back and start your project? I didn't think so. Now stop being a criminal, OR ELSE!
Seriously, ya'll should'a voted me for president. Obviously.
UPDATE! So I was working on this post last night and today was the bridge competition. I got to go into the class while the torture, er, I mean, bridge weight testing was going on. I walked into a classroom filled with things that were stinkin' replicas of DNA spirals and the most complicated and amazingly artistic bridges I've ever seen. It would have been devastatingly sinful to break these things! Then, it was our turn. I kept my eyes low as everyone nearly gasped in horror at the sight of it. They weighed the bridge first and well...it weighed more than twice as much as the next heaviest bridge. That might have been because everyone else was using airy, creative and mathematical maneuvers and I was using the technique called stack the toothpicks and pour on 70% of the glue in the entire bottle.
She put the pencil through with some yarn hanging down and looked at it dubiously. I cringed. She hung a water bottle on it. I thought, "Here we go, kiss it goodbye, child!" And it stood. She added another. And another. And another. And another. The paperclip was breaking from holding the water bottles. She hung a bag in a container of marbles from it. She traded out the water bottles and got a gallon jug of water. It still was fine! At this point, the hilarity of this entire situation was bathing over me and I would have flown my husband to the location to experience it because it was so insane. She re-hung the individual water bottles on it and it stood. There were cheers. I stared in utter disbelief. Then she ran out of weights. Our stupid and hideous monster withstood all of the weights.
She told my offspring that they ought to bring it home. This horrendous and grotesque creation won an award! (We disqualified because the offspring forgot to tell us it had to have "legs".) Yes, the others looked like ballerinas while ours looked like a fat, squatty, obese tank, but it worked.
Poetic justice for the English teacher. Win. And yes, the keyboard is still mightier than the toothpick bridge. Er, sword. Or that was a pen. Oh, never mind.
Peace, love and use more glue,
Ms. Daisy
Go deep. Dig. I mean something along the lines of waterboarding. What could be worse than this?
Let me tell you exactly what is worse than this.
Having to make a toothpick bridge with Elmers glue for a child's project.
So apparently I got an email about a month ago informing me that my offspring ought to be just chugging right along on their toothpick bridge project (a what?!), so I said, great. That sounds horrible. I'm glad I don't have to do it!
I received a follow-up email that said hopefully the said offspring is near completed with said project (last night - since it's due in 2 days). Panic begins as I ask offspring what the deal is and how it's coming along. Panic increases towards hyperventilation as offspring procures a ziplock bag of 2 boxes of 750 flat toothpicks and a bottle of Elmers. There is nothing done. There are no plans.
This is where you make the choice. The choice to allow your child to fall flat on their face and fail (especially since this offspring couldn't fine motor their way out of a paper bag) or where you veer off into Neverneverland as you hear phrases come out of your mouth that you have a vague recollection of hearing before somewhere in your childhood in the form of something sounding like the voice of your mother/father. This is where arm-flailing becomes a sport and sighing it's cheerleading companion, where mumbling and raking your hands through your hair is no longer dramatic, but seems the only way you could survive such a horrid ordeal. This is where you picture the teacher laughing as they assigned this sick torture and your blood begins to surge into your temples because all you want to do is put up your freakin Christmas tree and instead you have to deal with glue and toothpicks. But you are a teacher, too, and no assignment will ever be willingly overlooked, so it's time to jump in, both feet.
This is the point at which I decide there must be an easier way. There must be weird sickos out there who like this sort of torture (architects, engineers, etc.), and who are they and how can I bribe them to do this for me? Let's go easiest first: ebay. Does anyone have these things for sale? Crap! Why not?!!!
Let me just tell you - if you are one of those weird sickos, PUT THOSE THINGS ON EBAY!! YOU COULD BE A BAZILLIONAIRE!!! Just give me a cut for thinking of a business for you, 10% will be just fine, thank you.
Secondly, my next thought brought me to this: I live not very far from a world-class university with a fantastic engineering program, perhaps I could get one of those smart (and yet, crazy) people to do this for me. They are in college, thus, they are poor! I could pay them with food, laundry washing and money. But I don't know any of them. I did go on their college of engineering website in hopes they might just randomly list some really A+ students who didn't have a life on a Sunday night (unless you count Warcraft as a fun thing to do with your time). This also fell through.
So, I am not an engineer. I am more of the Spanish/English teacher type, actually, and that has pretty much nothing to do with engineering. I obviously did what I figured was the best plan on bridgemaking: line up a whole bunch of toothpicks in a row and pour 1/3 of the bottle of glue on top of it. My first plan was to just dump the entire box of 750 in a plastic bin and empty the glue entirely on top of it and use a hairdryer to make it dry quickly, but my hubby said no, I could not do that. I am pretty sure that is the fastest way to build a bridge, though, and surely that must count for something.
I had a kickin' row going on and my hubby and I were convinced by all these pictures on the internet that we had to make it go "upward" too, not just be a flat bottom thing. So we made triangles (that's what the cool people did) and glued them together and attached them to the bottom bridge thingie with things that look like piles of kindling wood in a huge lump. I am pretty sure this is the best way to do it. However, we still felt that this was a little embarassing and disasterous and getting more drastic every second we tried a new idea on it, so I did the only logical thing:
Text my brother and father (both engineers/retired) with this message, "engineering emergency 911 - this is supposed to be a bridge" and a picture of the fantastic thing we made.
They were not able to help, probably because they were too busy cracking up.
I would like to say to the teacher, "Do you hate me and my life?" No, no, better: "Why do you hate me and my family?"
I got to thinking about all of this torture and punishment and thought about how such a hideous idea could be put to good use. Aha! Prison reform! In order to stop the common problem of inmates being released only to be sent back to prison after a very short while, we approach them with this: you come back to jail any time soon, you have to make a freakin toothpick bridge using those and just Elmer's glue and it has to hold your weight or you can't leave. No TV, no movies, no nothin' - just you and your sticky fingers and the toothpicks that you will soon poke into your eyeballs out of sheer frustration and horror. No talking, no free time, no internet and no, you can't decorate your Christmas tree until you're finished. Wanna come back and start your project? I didn't think so. Now stop being a criminal, OR ELSE!
Seriously, ya'll should'a voted me for president. Obviously.
UPDATE! So I was working on this post last night and today was the bridge competition. I got to go into the class while the torture, er, I mean, bridge weight testing was going on. I walked into a classroom filled with things that were stinkin' replicas of DNA spirals and the most complicated and amazingly artistic bridges I've ever seen. It would have been devastatingly sinful to break these things! Then, it was our turn. I kept my eyes low as everyone nearly gasped in horror at the sight of it. They weighed the bridge first and well...it weighed more than twice as much as the next heaviest bridge. That might have been because everyone else was using airy, creative and mathematical maneuvers and I was using the technique called stack the toothpicks and pour on 70% of the glue in the entire bottle.
She put the pencil through with some yarn hanging down and looked at it dubiously. I cringed. She hung a water bottle on it. I thought, "Here we go, kiss it goodbye, child!" And it stood. She added another. And another. And another. And another. The paperclip was breaking from holding the water bottles. She hung a bag in a container of marbles from it. She traded out the water bottles and got a gallon jug of water. It still was fine! At this point, the hilarity of this entire situation was bathing over me and I would have flown my husband to the location to experience it because it was so insane. She re-hung the individual water bottles on it and it stood. There were cheers. I stared in utter disbelief. Then she ran out of weights. Our stupid and hideous monster withstood all of the weights.
She told my offspring that they ought to bring it home. This horrendous and grotesque creation won an award! (We disqualified because the offspring forgot to tell us it had to have "legs".) Yes, the others looked like ballerinas while ours looked like a fat, squatty, obese tank, but it worked.
Poetic justice for the English teacher. Win. And yes, the keyboard is still mightier than the toothpick bridge. Er, sword. Or that was a pen. Oh, never mind.
Peace, love and use more glue,
Ms. Daisy
Monday, December 10, 2012
It's not always just the way you say it...
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Double swear
I might have invented some new swear words today.
Before you freak and panic - I didn't really. In my house, "poopy butt" is a swear word. Yep, we're hard core. Now back in the day (while I was an unregenerate sinner) I liked swearing so much it was pretty much a hobby. I liked swear words so much, I used them even when they didn't make any sense. That was okay since I just put them in a string one right after the other for maximum enjoyment of my total depravity.
Today, if I were a swear-er, I would have won the World Series in swearing against a drunken, angry, grumpy old sailor, hands down no problema. Instead, since I am not, I usually say the word "swear". So if I get really mad and have a self-control meltdown, I might sound like this, "Oh my swearing swearness, swear, swear!" I find that saying the word swear is just as helpful without the calories. Now I totally do not advocate that you do this, I am just laying out the horror that makes up my life for all to see so that you can understand the depth of my upset-ness.
Why? You sayeth. Pray tell, Daisy, what could possibly be so horrifying?
Three elements: my family, poison and deception.
Now I know you're already thinking back to me saying how I'm so ultra-dramatic that this is something like my kid ate a McDonalds french fry. NO. Worse. WAY WORSE. And if you know me personally, this is almost like one step before murder so you know it's serious.
Here's how it all started...
I woke up this morning with a sore throat (third day in a row). My mother is in town and she came in the kitchen to ask me how I was feeling. I said, meh, throat still hurting. She said, "Ya know whaaat - you should use that stuff that Dad has. It kills the sore throat right away." I asked her what it exactly was, she said she didn't know, just the old stuff from the old days.
What is this stuff, you ask? It is this spray that has been in a bottle in the medicine cabinet for the last at least 35 years. I am not exaggerating. Probably longer. No, for real. It's from the 1950's. (Red flags for keeping something that long, yes, I know, but it pales in comparison to what I'm about to tell you.) My Dad sprays it on his throat if he gets a rip-roarin'-climb-up-the-wall-sore-throat.
So me, being me, I get the name of it and look it up. It's called merthiolate. I say, "Holy cow, Mom, you don't even know what it is and you've been using it forever!" She replies that back in the day (50s, 60s), if you got strep throat, they didn't give you antibiotics, if you got really bad, you had to go to the hospital and they would paint something on the back of your throat. She was guessing that it was that stuff. SO IT MUST BE JUST FINE.
Let's just imagine the worse case scenario. What could be the worst possible thing that you would ever come in contact with? Like EVER. Like on the whole stinkin' planet. Take a look at the word: merthiolate. What are those first three letters?
Holy SWEAR!!!!!
It's FRICKIN MERCURY AND SODIUM. Also known as thimerisol, also known as the reason for 99.999% of all autism in the United States today, also known as the only heavy metal that implodes brain neurons at levels smaller than minisculemicronliters, also known as you have to call haz-mat and write a public report if you spill one drop, also known as the stuff in thermometers that if broken, you can pretty much evacuate your houses for twelve years and burn it down to fix the problem.
Now. My Dad is Rambo. He carried a quartered elk up and down a mountain over several miles (that's a couple hundred pounds a shot, folks), he slalom waterskis at 66 years old from a jumping start behind his boat, and while riding his dirtbike through the woods on trails one day, a stump went through his leg and opened it up so far you could see shin bone - he rode home and suggested that perhaps he might want to go over to the hospital in the same tone if he were to ask if someone wanted to have pizza for dinner that night. This is the person from whom my siblings and I learned to be tough since anything we did to ourselves would be met with, "Is it bleeding? Is it broken? Then quit crying! (optional: or I'll knock you into next Tuesday/or I'll give you something to cry about.)" This was the guy who, when I brought home my first real boyfriend, had a deer carcass laid out on the kitchen table, blood up to his elbows and a knife fourteen inches long in his hand. This is the same guy who taught me how to shoot and handle a rifle, shotgun and handgun; ride the dirtbike (that he used to puncture his leg); drive a manual transmission; change the oil; throw a ball (the real way, not like a lame girl with a broken shoulder); and to be mostly fearless.
But.
I would like him to be around for at least another 40 years so I encouraged him to please for the love of God never touch that stuff again. In fact, I said, don't dump it in the drain and poison your well, maybe just check if FedEx sends things to the moon or Mars. No, f'real.
So here is my problem. Who the swear thought it would be okay to suggest people use mercury topically (or internally)? And perhaps they might like it if I would come over to their house and experiment on them and their family? Maybe I have a few pieces of lead for them to try on, don't worry, I am pretty sure it even has some copper, too, and if you're looking for trace minerals I've got some saltpeter all up in the mix. Were the eugenics "scientists" so excited that they had a whole giant baby boom of a population that they couldn't even wait to get their sick little evil hands on 'em and try out a whole bunch of experiments? That's sure what it seems like from over here and it ain't cool (see, told you I was disturbed! An "ain't" has made an appearance!).
If you know someone who lived in the 50s in America, ask them if they've ever used merthiolate. Apparently it was "in every medicine cabinet in the nation". There was another one called mercurochrome that was always right next to the merthiolate, double mercury, yes please.
I'm going to tell you again, just one more time...please. Please read your labels. If there isn't a label, look it up.
You never know what's in there!
Peace, love and you better check yourself before you wreck yourself if you think you're gonna mess with my Rambo Dad,
Ms. Daisy
Before you freak and panic - I didn't really. In my house, "poopy butt" is a swear word. Yep, we're hard core. Now back in the day (while I was an unregenerate sinner) I liked swearing so much it was pretty much a hobby. I liked swear words so much, I used them even when they didn't make any sense. That was okay since I just put them in a string one right after the other for maximum enjoyment of my total depravity.
Today, if I were a swear-er, I would have won the World Series in swearing against a drunken, angry, grumpy old sailor, hands down no problema. Instead, since I am not, I usually say the word "swear". So if I get really mad and have a self-control meltdown, I might sound like this, "Oh my swearing swearness, swear, swear!" I find that saying the word swear is just as helpful without the calories. Now I totally do not advocate that you do this, I am just laying out the horror that makes up my life for all to see so that you can understand the depth of my upset-ness.
Why? You sayeth. Pray tell, Daisy, what could possibly be so horrifying?
Three elements: my family, poison and deception.
Now I know you're already thinking back to me saying how I'm so ultra-dramatic that this is something like my kid ate a McDonalds french fry. NO. Worse. WAY WORSE. And if you know me personally, this is almost like one step before murder so you know it's serious.
Here's how it all started...
I woke up this morning with a sore throat (third day in a row). My mother is in town and she came in the kitchen to ask me how I was feeling. I said, meh, throat still hurting. She said, "Ya know whaaat - you should use that stuff that Dad has. It kills the sore throat right away." I asked her what it exactly was, she said she didn't know, just the old stuff from the old days.
What is this stuff, you ask? It is this spray that has been in a bottle in the medicine cabinet for the last at least 35 years. I am not exaggerating. Probably longer. No, for real. It's from the 1950's. (Red flags for keeping something that long, yes, I know, but it pales in comparison to what I'm about to tell you.) My Dad sprays it on his throat if he gets a rip-roarin'-climb-up-the-wall-sore-throat.
So me, being me, I get the name of it and look it up. It's called merthiolate. I say, "Holy cow, Mom, you don't even know what it is and you've been using it forever!" She replies that back in the day (50s, 60s), if you got strep throat, they didn't give you antibiotics, if you got really bad, you had to go to the hospital and they would paint something on the back of your throat. She was guessing that it was that stuff. SO IT MUST BE JUST FINE.
Let's just imagine the worse case scenario. What could be the worst possible thing that you would ever come in contact with? Like EVER. Like on the whole stinkin' planet. Take a look at the word: merthiolate. What are those first three letters?
Holy SWEAR!!!!!
It's FRICKIN MERCURY AND SODIUM. Also known as thimerisol, also known as the reason for 99.999% of all autism in the United States today, also known as the only heavy metal that implodes brain neurons at levels smaller than minisculemicronliters, also known as you have to call haz-mat and write a public report if you spill one drop, also known as the stuff in thermometers that if broken, you can pretty much evacuate your houses for twelve years and burn it down to fix the problem.
Now. My Dad is Rambo. He carried a quartered elk up and down a mountain over several miles (that's a couple hundred pounds a shot, folks), he slalom waterskis at 66 years old from a jumping start behind his boat, and while riding his dirtbike through the woods on trails one day, a stump went through his leg and opened it up so far you could see shin bone - he rode home and suggested that perhaps he might want to go over to the hospital in the same tone if he were to ask if someone wanted to have pizza for dinner that night. This is the person from whom my siblings and I learned to be tough since anything we did to ourselves would be met with, "Is it bleeding? Is it broken? Then quit crying! (optional: or I'll knock you into next Tuesday/or I'll give you something to cry about.)" This was the guy who, when I brought home my first real boyfriend, had a deer carcass laid out on the kitchen table, blood up to his elbows and a knife fourteen inches long in his hand. This is the same guy who taught me how to shoot and handle a rifle, shotgun and handgun; ride the dirtbike (that he used to puncture his leg); drive a manual transmission; change the oil; throw a ball (the real way, not like a lame girl with a broken shoulder); and to be mostly fearless.
But.
I would like him to be around for at least another 40 years so I encouraged him to please for the love of God never touch that stuff again. In fact, I said, don't dump it in the drain and poison your well, maybe just check if FedEx sends things to the moon or Mars. No, f'real.
So here is my problem. Who the swear thought it would be okay to suggest people use mercury topically (or internally)? And perhaps they might like it if I would come over to their house and experiment on them and their family? Maybe I have a few pieces of lead for them to try on, don't worry, I am pretty sure it even has some copper, too, and if you're looking for trace minerals I've got some saltpeter all up in the mix. Were the eugenics "scientists" so excited that they had a whole giant baby boom of a population that they couldn't even wait to get their sick little evil hands on 'em and try out a whole bunch of experiments? That's sure what it seems like from over here and it ain't cool (see, told you I was disturbed! An "ain't" has made an appearance!).
If you know someone who lived in the 50s in America, ask them if they've ever used merthiolate. Apparently it was "in every medicine cabinet in the nation". There was another one called mercurochrome that was always right next to the merthiolate, double mercury, yes please.
I'm going to tell you again, just one more time...please. Please read your labels. If there isn't a label, look it up.
You never know what's in there!
Peace, love and you better check yourself before you wreck yourself if you think you're gonna mess with my Rambo Dad,
Ms. Daisy
Friday, December 7, 2012
Spike, your favorite GMO seasoning
Have you ever heard that I am into reading labels?
Oh. Yeah. That.
Anyway - today I was mixin' up a mean batch of some homemade chicken soup and I was seasoning it - a little sea salt, a little cracked black pepper, gotta have some garlic and onion, but, hmmm...it's missing something.
Aaaaall the way in the back of the spice cabinet stood the little old red-capped bottle of Spike seasoning. Now this sucker has a list a mile long of ingredients. It pretty much is like the kitchen sink of seasonings. It seriously has everything. Think of a spice, yes. It has it. It's in there. Yep, that one too. YES! In there. Yep. Keep going. You can keep this game up for like 55 guesses and you'll be about halfway there. Yes, that one too. No, I'm totally serious.
So okay. I look at it. I haven't used it in a long time because of the second and third ingredients: hydrolized soy protein and soy granules. Alarms should be going off in your head. These alarms are saying "GMO" in a loud and alarmy kind of robotic voice and making you want to cover your ears. But you are no ostrich, so you pull your head out of the sand and face the music.
Inside your head, the dialogue may go something like this:
The good one: Meh, stinky poo. This totally is GMO, I just know it. If it weren't, they'd have broadcasted it all over their label. Crappy.
The bad one: But maybe not! It's so tasty. It's exactly what this soup needs. You have some gone out of the bottle already so hey, it can't be that bad, can it?
The good one: You're going to serve this to small people who trust you. You can't pillow your ever-increasingly-darkening-non-highlighted-haired-head tonight in peace if you know you're serving something to small folk who you're going to sterilize with crazy GMO science experiment crapola.
The bad one: But it tastes good?
The good one: You are a total idiot. I'm calling the hotline.
The bad one: I knew you would.
So after a little searching, I found their hotline number. A real human being answered the phone right away, I didn't have to press one or zero or oprima la estrella or anything. It was a real live human female. The convo went like this:
Me: Hi, how are ya?
Woman: Fine, how can I help you today?
Me: So okay, I have a question about one of your products. It's original Spike and I have it here in my hands. My question has to do with the ingredients. The second and third ingredients contain soy. Can you tell me if the soy is from a GMO or a non-GMO source?
Woman: Um. (long pause) Well. (pause) I...I...am unsure.
Me: Okay, could you please tell me how I might be able to find out that information?
Woman: (long pause) Well. Hold on...(I hear background noises.) Whispering - it's...it's GMO, yeah.
Me: Thank you very much.
At this, I opened up the GMO jar and dumped the contents into the garbage can. My good side was smirking at the bad side. After a few minutes, I thought of how thankful I was that this woman told me the truth. As you can see, she clearly did not want to, maybe someone told her not to disclose that information. She WHISPERED IT for crying out sideways. But this sweet lady risked I don't even know what so that I could follow my convictions in not poisoning my family and self. She was like Daniel in the lion's den out there.
So this post is dedicated to her, for telling the truth.
All a ya'll, three cheers for the Spike lady! Hip hip hooray!
Now go and do likewise.
Peace, love and tell the truth,
Ms. Daisy
Oh. Yeah. That.
Anyway - today I was mixin' up a mean batch of some homemade chicken soup and I was seasoning it - a little sea salt, a little cracked black pepper, gotta have some garlic and onion, but, hmmm...it's missing something.
Aaaaall the way in the back of the spice cabinet stood the little old red-capped bottle of Spike seasoning. Now this sucker has a list a mile long of ingredients. It pretty much is like the kitchen sink of seasonings. It seriously has everything. Think of a spice, yes. It has it. It's in there. Yep, that one too. YES! In there. Yep. Keep going. You can keep this game up for like 55 guesses and you'll be about halfway there. Yes, that one too. No, I'm totally serious.
So okay. I look at it. I haven't used it in a long time because of the second and third ingredients: hydrolized soy protein and soy granules. Alarms should be going off in your head. These alarms are saying "GMO" in a loud and alarmy kind of robotic voice and making you want to cover your ears. But you are no ostrich, so you pull your head out of the sand and face the music.
Inside your head, the dialogue may go something like this:
The good one: Meh, stinky poo. This totally is GMO, I just know it. If it weren't, they'd have broadcasted it all over their label. Crappy.
The bad one: But maybe not! It's so tasty. It's exactly what this soup needs. You have some gone out of the bottle already so hey, it can't be that bad, can it?
The good one: You're going to serve this to small people who trust you. You can't pillow your ever-increasingly-darkening-non-highlighted-haired-head tonight in peace if you know you're serving something to small folk who you're going to sterilize with crazy GMO science experiment crapola.
The bad one: But it tastes good?
The good one: You are a total idiot. I'm calling the hotline.
The bad one: I knew you would.
So after a little searching, I found their hotline number. A real human being answered the phone right away, I didn't have to press one or zero or oprima la estrella or anything. It was a real live human female. The convo went like this:
Me: Hi, how are ya?
Woman: Fine, how can I help you today?
Me: So okay, I have a question about one of your products. It's original Spike and I have it here in my hands. My question has to do with the ingredients. The second and third ingredients contain soy. Can you tell me if the soy is from a GMO or a non-GMO source?
Woman: Um. (long pause) Well. (pause) I...I...am unsure.
Me: Okay, could you please tell me how I might be able to find out that information?
Woman: (long pause) Well. Hold on...(I hear background noises.) Whispering - it's...it's GMO, yeah.
Me: Thank you very much.
At this, I opened up the GMO jar and dumped the contents into the garbage can. My good side was smirking at the bad side. After a few minutes, I thought of how thankful I was that this woman told me the truth. As you can see, she clearly did not want to, maybe someone told her not to disclose that information. She WHISPERED IT for crying out sideways. But this sweet lady risked I don't even know what so that I could follow my convictions in not poisoning my family and self. She was like Daniel in the lion's den out there.
So this post is dedicated to her, for telling the truth.
All a ya'll, three cheers for the Spike lady! Hip hip hooray!
Now go and do likewise.
Peace, love and tell the truth,
Ms. Daisy
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
What is a healthy diet?
There are a myriad of definitions and ideas for what makes up a healthy diet. Some people think that eating low fat means eating healthy. Some people think being vegan or vegetarian is a healthy diet. Some people pursue juicing or making things home made. Some people think that eating McDonalds only once a week is considered fairly healthy and balanced.
For more years than I care to admit, I've been reading up on and researching these healthy diet theories and as I've done so, my thoughts have evolved and developed into where they are today.
I used to think that butter was the devil and you should always cook with a eensy squirt of canola oil and now I am so against canola oil I could buy a t-shirt that broadcasted the idea. What? Do you believe them that genetically modified rapeseed oil is good for you? Perhaps you should take a look behind the canola oil curtain and door number three. Seriously. I am baffled at the promotion of this poison. (Like I said, I'm not dramatic at all.)
If I need to use an oil, I use melted butter, coconut oil or olive oil. I might even suggest to you that you ought to go to your cupboard, take the canola oil out and drop that gigantic container directly into the garbage can. If you have corn (vegetable) oil, do the same. You know if it's corn, it's pretty much going to make you grow a third arm any minute with all that GMO junk. Why do they do that? It is more than a little disturbing.
The other thing that is filling up the world is soy lecithin and other such darling soy products. The amount of soy people are consuming (especially in the United States) is so off the charts it's insane. Soy is meant to be eaten in a quantity as if it were a condiment as seen in cultures of China and Japan. The soy that is mainly eaten in the eastern countries is also fermented first. The soy that is consumed now blocks mineral absorbtion, inhibits protein digestion, depresses thyroid function and contains nasty carcinogens. Sounds great for ya. Have a gallon of tofu, ready, set, go. Not to mention that soy is one of the top genetically modified foods on planet earth, hanging out with GMO corn and sugar beets.
Are you distressed with my disturbing information? Okay, I know. I'm sorry. I don't want to rain on your parade but I'm here to help you live a little better.
Tell ya what, I'm going to direct you to a site that will give you some good low-down on proper eating and nutrition. They have a list. Go through it, read it, check off in your mind if you are already doing these things or if there are some things you might need to work on. If you find that the list is comprised of totally foreign ideas and you're doing none of them, start somewhere. Pick one thing. Change it from now on. When you get used to that thing, adapt one more thing into your lifestyle. You can do it. A lot of people I speak to about this topic admit that they feel overwhelmed when they hear the flood of badness and they just want to give up.
Don't give up! Just pick one thing. One thing. You can do that. Find something and do it this week - do it today. Educate yourself on the topic and you'll have such motivation, the next thing you know, you'll be teaching other people and saving the world. (You should probably go cape shopping soon.)
Okay. Ready? Take a look, tell me what you think. Are you all set on this list? Is it a done deal already? Where are you at? Take a deep breath and click here:
The healthy food checklist.
When you come back, take a deep breath and make a decision. What can you do today? Then, go buy your cape.
Peace, love and you can do eeeet!
Ms. Daisy
For more years than I care to admit, I've been reading up on and researching these healthy diet theories and as I've done so, my thoughts have evolved and developed into where they are today.
I used to think that butter was the devil and you should always cook with a eensy squirt of canola oil and now I am so against canola oil I could buy a t-shirt that broadcasted the idea. What? Do you believe them that genetically modified rapeseed oil is good for you? Perhaps you should take a look behind the canola oil curtain and door number three. Seriously. I am baffled at the promotion of this poison. (Like I said, I'm not dramatic at all.)
 |
| clever and descriptive picture courtesy of draxe.com |
If I need to use an oil, I use melted butter, coconut oil or olive oil. I might even suggest to you that you ought to go to your cupboard, take the canola oil out and drop that gigantic container directly into the garbage can. If you have corn (vegetable) oil, do the same. You know if it's corn, it's pretty much going to make you grow a third arm any minute with all that GMO junk. Why do they do that? It is more than a little disturbing.
The other thing that is filling up the world is soy lecithin and other such darling soy products. The amount of soy people are consuming (especially in the United States) is so off the charts it's insane. Soy is meant to be eaten in a quantity as if it were a condiment as seen in cultures of China and Japan. The soy that is mainly eaten in the eastern countries is also fermented first. The soy that is consumed now blocks mineral absorbtion, inhibits protein digestion, depresses thyroid function and contains nasty carcinogens. Sounds great for ya. Have a gallon of tofu, ready, set, go. Not to mention that soy is one of the top genetically modified foods on planet earth, hanging out with GMO corn and sugar beets.
Are you distressed with my disturbing information? Okay, I know. I'm sorry. I don't want to rain on your parade but I'm here to help you live a little better.
Tell ya what, I'm going to direct you to a site that will give you some good low-down on proper eating and nutrition. They have a list. Go through it, read it, check off in your mind if you are already doing these things or if there are some things you might need to work on. If you find that the list is comprised of totally foreign ideas and you're doing none of them, start somewhere. Pick one thing. Change it from now on. When you get used to that thing, adapt one more thing into your lifestyle. You can do it. A lot of people I speak to about this topic admit that they feel overwhelmed when they hear the flood of badness and they just want to give up.
Don't give up! Just pick one thing. One thing. You can do that. Find something and do it this week - do it today. Educate yourself on the topic and you'll have such motivation, the next thing you know, you'll be teaching other people and saving the world. (You should probably go cape shopping soon.)
Okay. Ready? Take a look, tell me what you think. Are you all set on this list? Is it a done deal already? Where are you at? Take a deep breath and click here:
The healthy food checklist.
When you come back, take a deep breath and make a decision. What can you do today? Then, go buy your cape.
Peace, love and you can do eeeet!
Ms. Daisy
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Really?!
So, I got home and took a close look at my receipt, I think it's a little strange.
I am totally in favor of seeing the value of natural products, but I think the person entering the suggested retail value may have been a little over the top. A slight overestimation, perhaps.
Either that or they are accounting for inflation for the future.
Or it's in Zimbabwe dollars.
That's quite a sale at any rate.
Peace, love and never pay full price,
Ms. Daisy
Monday, December 3, 2012
I am the smartest man (woman) alive!
You know the part on Billy Madison when he spells "couch" (or something?) right and he yells out, "I am the smartest man aliiiiive!!!"?
Well, I just did that.
Not the spelling couch part. I totally can do that no prob. C...o...r...are you going to the mall later, that's what I'm asking...
You see, I just changed the head of a plug on my vacuum cleaner. If you've ever done this before in your life, you are now scoffing at me (but I can't hear you or see you so I'm going to pretend that you aren't doing such things) and if you've never done it, well, I just want you to sit there and admire me and be very impressed and think that only Mensa members can achieve such feats.
By the way, this reminds me of something. My hubby said that everything in my life is dramatic. I have no idea what he means. What-EVER. I am soooo not dramatic at all (okay, maybe a teensy bit, I mean, I did, after all, receive the Best Actress Award in my acting class. If you weren't impressed with the plug head, you can be impressed with my cherished award.).
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, saving the world. I mean, changing a plug head. It felt like I kind of did something amazing. (Do shush, you scoffers!)
Armed with motivation to be a do-it-myselfer and one previous experience over the summer in plug-head-changing, I decided that my awesome Filter Queen vacuum would be an appropriate mini-project as it decided that it would die in the middle of my cleaning frenzy. (It was Friday, you know.)
In the summer, I had my other nearest and dearest electrical friend, the edger, go up in a small puff of smoke and die - and HELLO! Anyone worth their weight in salt (is that even a thing?) knows you can't get through a week of summer without having a deliciously carved edging tantalizingly framing your yard and walks. Unless you are just not into that. (Although you do not know the depth of the bafflement that causes me.)
At that time I had facebook and people who ccould help me in such adventures. I have since quit that arena of social networking and am now all alone in the world (the cyberworld, anyway) to figure things out on my own. I was pretty sure I remembered (mostly) what to do and recalled a feeling that it was a rather simple task.
So with a general sense of having done something once and believing that I certainly ought to be able to do this again, I began the electrical surgery on my Filter Queen.
And basically, it goes like this - you get to cut the (unplugged) cord of your appliance off near the pluggy thinger, pull back the rubbery part to expose two twisty covered copper wire bunches and then stick those wiry bunches around a screw in your new plug head. I am only using this professional language because I have watched one youtube video on it and this is the extent of my electrical education.
But this brings me to the whole philosophy that I want to encourage in all those I love out there - you can do it, you can make it, you can fix it. Seriously. I mean, unless it's rocket science, and then - if it is, well, just read up on it and probably you can figure it out, too. If you think about it, the world is not mostly filled to the brim with complete and utter geniuses. There are some out there, yes, indeedy. But the majority of people are just regular Joe Schmoes (not to be confused with the famous Joe the plumber) and if they can do it, why can't you? You can.
And if you get stuck, well, ask for help. While I was shredding my copper coverings off, I realized that last time I did this I had a two prong plug head and now I had a 3 prong. Um, uh oh. What to do? Do I link them together and blow up the world? (I love my vacuum way too much for that.) I'm going to guess that I just ignore that third thing because my thingy didn't have three wire thingys. As I wondered, I said, "Wherefore art thou Romeo!?" (That was because my husband was sleeping in a near coma-like state and we have a friend who is an electrician named Romeo.) So, just call your local Romeo and you'll be all set. (Even though it was a Friday night and your local Romeo probably has a life and was out having a great time while your great time is defined by fixing a vacuum cleaner plug...)
Anyway, when you do things for yourself, you have a satisfaction in learning how to do things and you develop a sense of confidence that heck yeah, you can do something else. So...what is it that you want to do? What's stoppin' yas?
To utilize a Nike saying - just do it.
Peace, love and go on with your bad selves!
Ms. Daisy
(and don't forget to let me know about it!)
Well, I just did that.
Not the spelling couch part. I totally can do that no prob. C...o...r...are you going to the mall later, that's what I'm asking...
You see, I just changed the head of a plug on my vacuum cleaner. If you've ever done this before in your life, you are now scoffing at me (but I can't hear you or see you so I'm going to pretend that you aren't doing such things) and if you've never done it, well, I just want you to sit there and admire me and be very impressed and think that only Mensa members can achieve such feats.
By the way, this reminds me of something. My hubby said that everything in my life is dramatic. I have no idea what he means. What-EVER. I am soooo not dramatic at all (okay, maybe a teensy bit, I mean, I did, after all, receive the Best Actress Award in my acting class. If you weren't impressed with the plug head, you can be impressed with my cherished award.).
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, saving the world. I mean, changing a plug head. It felt like I kind of did something amazing. (Do shush, you scoffers!)
Armed with motivation to be a do-it-myselfer and one previous experience over the summer in plug-head-changing, I decided that my awesome Filter Queen vacuum would be an appropriate mini-project as it decided that it would die in the middle of my cleaning frenzy. (It was Friday, you know.)
In the summer, I had my other nearest and dearest electrical friend, the edger, go up in a small puff of smoke and die - and HELLO! Anyone worth their weight in salt (is that even a thing?) knows you can't get through a week of summer without having a deliciously carved edging tantalizingly framing your yard and walks. Unless you are just not into that. (Although you do not know the depth of the bafflement that causes me.)
At that time I had facebook and people who ccould help me in such adventures. I have since quit that arena of social networking and am now all alone in the world (the cyberworld, anyway) to figure things out on my own. I was pretty sure I remembered (mostly) what to do and recalled a feeling that it was a rather simple task.
So with a general sense of having done something once and believing that I certainly ought to be able to do this again, I began the electrical surgery on my Filter Queen.
And basically, it goes like this - you get to cut the (unplugged) cord of your appliance off near the pluggy thinger, pull back the rubbery part to expose two twisty covered copper wire bunches and then stick those wiry bunches around a screw in your new plug head. I am only using this professional language because I have watched one youtube video on it and this is the extent of my electrical education.
But this brings me to the whole philosophy that I want to encourage in all those I love out there - you can do it, you can make it, you can fix it. Seriously. I mean, unless it's rocket science, and then - if it is, well, just read up on it and probably you can figure it out, too. If you think about it, the world is not mostly filled to the brim with complete and utter geniuses. There are some out there, yes, indeedy. But the majority of people are just regular Joe Schmoes (not to be confused with the famous Joe the plumber) and if they can do it, why can't you? You can.
And if you get stuck, well, ask for help. While I was shredding my copper coverings off, I realized that last time I did this I had a two prong plug head and now I had a 3 prong. Um, uh oh. What to do? Do I link them together and blow up the world? (I love my vacuum way too much for that.) I'm going to guess that I just ignore that third thing because my thingy didn't have three wire thingys. As I wondered, I said, "Wherefore art thou Romeo!?" (That was because my husband was sleeping in a near coma-like state and we have a friend who is an electrician named Romeo.) So, just call your local Romeo and you'll be all set. (Even though it was a Friday night and your local Romeo probably has a life and was out having a great time while your great time is defined by fixing a vacuum cleaner plug...)
Anyway, when you do things for yourself, you have a satisfaction in learning how to do things and you develop a sense of confidence that heck yeah, you can do something else. So...what is it that you want to do? What's stoppin' yas?
To utilize a Nike saying - just do it.
Peace, love and go on with your bad selves!
Ms. Daisy
(and don't forget to let me know about it!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)