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!)
Friday, November 30, 2012
A trip to the compost bin
I have a compost bin. Oh, how I love the compost bin. I toss my leaves, kitchen scraps, the whole lovely deal in there. I was glad to have it when I was ripping out my dead veggie stalks, no giant bag to wrestle it into needed whatsoever - just open the lid, toss it in.
A couple of nights ago beneath the full moon, I did not love my compost bin.
 |
| It was a dark and |
It was a night like any other around here, the depressing effect of Daylight Savings Time being wrought from my grip, creating black darkness akin to an Antarctic winter at the blessed time of 5:00 p.m. I was making dinner and creating enough scraps to fertilize my upcoming spring garden for weeks: carrots, brussel sprout bottoms, parsnip shreddlings, green onion bits - it was as if I were trying to overflow my bin with the amount of things I was scraping and whittliing away at in the kitchen.
As the mountain grew inside of my flower pot I utilize for such a purpose as this, I decided it was about time to take it out and toss it in the bin. The eggshells from breakfast were crushed to bits and yet scraps were still billowing over the top of the designated flower pot.
This task, although it may seem menial and simple to you, actually contains a bit of danger and risk. You see, I have a dog. If I were being nice, I would say that my dog has "special needs". She is basically a diseased (she has EPI = her pancreas doesn't produce enzymes so I crush pig enzymes onto her food, wet it, digest the $50 dog food in the bowl and then give it to her so she can deposit twice as much as what I gave her onto my grass) German Shepherd who loves to squirt piles of doo in every possible direction at every possible chance. In fact, my parent's dog was over last week for two days. I picked up two piles of poo from their dog. In that same time frame, I picked up about 24 piles of poo from my dog. Actually, when I say "pick up", I mean a combination of "squirt with a high powered jet stream hose" and "scrape across the grass into a receptacle" as it is as solid as a preservative/high fructose corn syrup-laden chocolate Snack Pack.
And even though I pick up such piles of sludge on an every-other-day basis and fill a paper Trader Joe's bag while muttering about how I'm sure she has the bowels of a bovine or perhaps equine animal and stretching my quaking fingers to the sky like an evil Sith lord while lamenting the day we chose to bring her home, they keep coming back at an insane pace.
It was with these thoughts that I crept outside to the bin.
My backyard seemed to me a possible minefield.
The full moon helped a little as I stared at the ground, inching, carefully, taking large steps to diminish my chances of stepping in a poo puddle bomb.
I focused with Karate Kid-like intensity, as if I were Ralph Macchio balancing on that beam, staring into the sunset over the ocean's tide. I must overcome! For a brief moment, I was sure of what Frogger was going through in all his trials.
But alas! I made it! Rejoice! I had reached the goal - the bin - unscathed!
I lifted the left side lid and held it open. With my right hand, I showered down pumpkin seeds, crushed eggshells, carrot and parsnip shreds, bits of brussel sprouts, everything.
And then I heard a death scream.
And it was coming out of my mouth.
As the cascading waterfall of veggie scraps fell to the pile and I looked down upon it, to my shock and horror, a ratty rodent leapt miraculously high out of the bin at me (clearly must have been mixed with kangaroo DNA - have you ever seen the leaping power of the rabbit on Monty Python's Holy Grail? I feared for my very life.), then scampered down the edge of the bin and away to safety, a.k.a. my neighbor's garbage can.
I dropped the bin lid like it was hot. There was no thought of carefully wading across the lawn now - only a 100 yard dash sprint a la Usain Bolt. Surprisingly, I did not get any poo on my shoes on the way back either, but I am pretty sure that is because I was flying over the backyard.
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| This is what my life felt like at that moment. |
I leapt into the house, slamming the door behind me, crashing against it and trying to tell myself to calm down lest I cause a heart explosion and have to clean up the walls. That would totally be worse than poo! Plus, I'd be dead, so it would also be difficult.
Since people in the house were all absorbed in doing loud things, they did not hear me. I did, however, worry for quite some time that the police would show up at my door due to a call from the neighbors checking to see if I heard anyone being murdered lately in the area.
Luckily, that did not happen.
I reported the story to my hubby, who said, "Don't you always prepare yourself for that? I always think that a rat is going to jump out at me!" SERIOUSLY?! What?! So you can imagine the buckets of sympathy I received upon the admission of my predicament. That would be negative zero, in case you were wondering. (And I totally just said "negative zero" for all the engineers and mathematicians so that they could have something to gag about. You're welcome!)
Needless to say, I only go out to the bin in daylight now (those 3 hours a day over here...er, it just feels like it) and have delegated any night trips to my dear loving husband. And the bin lid is permanently open. No more surprises, suckas.
This is Ms. Daisy reporting, reminding you to keep your eyes open and your shoes clean!
Peace, love and I hate everything about winter (apparently I needed yet another reason),
Ms. Daisy
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Zombies in the Mist
No, okay, not literally. Well, maybe. Halfway, anyway. I'm talking about zombies. Not the kind that have their arms out in front of them and come out at night under a full moon on Scooby Doo to chase Shaggy, but the permanently drugged-up kind we are fostering in our world through our upsidedown society.
The problem starts out because people aren't living how they should. They eat improper foods and quasi-foodlike substances and experience the detrimental results in their bodies. We avoid real food in favor of quick and pretend food, laden with chemicals and preservatives and develop a taste for them. (Let me encourage you to explore the wonderful world of making it yourself - from tortillas to bread, from salad dressing to cereal, and even fruit preserves, juices, butter, cheese, yogurt, ice cream, the whole nine yards. You can do this. Promise. I may be so bold to say that I think you might actually like it even better - for the experience of knowing how to do something yourself to the very taste of fresh, real food.) The majority of our society doesn't do the natural exercise we were designed to do through farming and other physical labor so we get all sloggy, sloppy and blobby. Combine this with a disconnect from figuring things out on your own and you get the recipe for a nation ready for a perfect zombie storm.
The big pharmaceutical companies jump in on this gleefully because the opportunity for making big money is easy peasy. You've got a whole world of people who go to their pharmaceutical-company-trained primary care physician. Instead of a physician trying to get down to the bottom of the problem and actually diagnosing a source (p.s. I don't believe that eating natural cholesterol causes high cholesterol - and if you haven't seen and read case studies of societies who consume enormous amounts of the said stuff, you might be surprised what you find.), they're trained to open their Giant Book of Pills and pick from their favorite colors to pass out to the pathetic and pained masses.
I have a problem with this. Seriously, why don't doctors get down to the bottom of it? Is it just too much work? Why aren't they doing blood work and urine testing to find out where you're imbalanced or what you lack or have an excess of in your systems? Why don't they ask you what you're eating or how much exercise you've been getting? Why don't they ask you what kind and how much work you're doing - are you stressed out? Do you have an outlet? Why don't they ask how much time you spend on your duff watching reality TV or with your face submerged into your iphone or on facebook? Why do they say they don't know where it came from and just give you a pill to mask your symptoms? Do you really realize how utterly idiotic this is? There's no fix anymore! It's all about finding a good drug for you.
Instead of something like: You have a desperate lack of potassium and Vitamin D in your blood makeup and far too high of a level of xyz. What foods have you been eating? Let's find what God made in nature (speaking of Vitamin D - is anyone else a little wide-eyed at the increasing lack of Vitamin D in our society as people hide in the shade 24/7 and wear sunscreen every day of the year? I'm sure there's no connection.) to increase your potassium and avoid such and such foods because they contain high levels of xyz.
If you've ever watched tv in your life, you've likely seen a drug commercial. If you've ever seen a drug commercial, you've seen something like this:
Part 1: Black and white film, sad, aching people with grimaces on their Lazyboy recliner.
Part 2: Sad person nodding at a doctor. Actor portrayal doctor wears a white coat while writing things down and then gives Sadface a prescription.
Part 3: Color film, Sadface is now briskly walking their dog down a sunshiney sidewalk, waving to their neighbors, high-fiving their spouse and climbing mountains.
Voiceover: Do not use Drugox if you are nursing, pregnant, ever want to become pregnant, ever want to father a child, or ever want to use your limbs again. Side effects include blindness, deafness, loss of limb, paralysis, kidney failure, suicidal thoughts, yellowing of the skin and eyeballs, fingernails turning into liquid, and death. In most cases, these problems will not clear up on their own and you should talk to your doctor so he can give you more prescription drugs so you can have more side effects and then take some more drugs that we made to combat the side effects you'll have from taking our chemically-based drugs. Do not take Drugox if you are already taking other drugs because you will slowly die. Unless you want to. We have a drug to help you use those drugs together. Ask your doctor about it. I bet he can solve your problems stat.
Yes. Well. Close enough, anyway.
I'm sure a giant mass of weak, flabby, drugged-up dumbheads who sit around on their squooshy tushies with their face glued to the screen of their tv, iphone and computer absorbed into their tiny lives must be good for something. Hmm, I wonder what that might be. Well, let's not try to guess or learn from history.
Hurry! Back to America's Got Talent!
Don't forget your 5:00 pill.
Peace, love, and zombies,
Ms. Daisy
The problem starts out because people aren't living how they should. They eat improper foods and quasi-foodlike substances and experience the detrimental results in their bodies. We avoid real food in favor of quick and pretend food, laden with chemicals and preservatives and develop a taste for them. (Let me encourage you to explore the wonderful world of making it yourself - from tortillas to bread, from salad dressing to cereal, and even fruit preserves, juices, butter, cheese, yogurt, ice cream, the whole nine yards. You can do this. Promise. I may be so bold to say that I think you might actually like it even better - for the experience of knowing how to do something yourself to the very taste of fresh, real food.) The majority of our society doesn't do the natural exercise we were designed to do through farming and other physical labor so we get all sloggy, sloppy and blobby. Combine this with a disconnect from figuring things out on your own and you get the recipe for a nation ready for a perfect zombie storm.
The big pharmaceutical companies jump in on this gleefully because the opportunity for making big money is easy peasy. You've got a whole world of people who go to their pharmaceutical-company-trained primary care physician. Instead of a physician trying to get down to the bottom of the problem and actually diagnosing a source (p.s. I don't believe that eating natural cholesterol causes high cholesterol - and if you haven't seen and read case studies of societies who consume enormous amounts of the said stuff, you might be surprised what you find.), they're trained to open their Giant Book of Pills and pick from their favorite colors to pass out to the pathetic and pained masses.
I have a problem with this. Seriously, why don't doctors get down to the bottom of it? Is it just too much work? Why aren't they doing blood work and urine testing to find out where you're imbalanced or what you lack or have an excess of in your systems? Why don't they ask you what you're eating or how much exercise you've been getting? Why don't they ask you what kind and how much work you're doing - are you stressed out? Do you have an outlet? Why don't they ask how much time you spend on your duff watching reality TV or with your face submerged into your iphone or on facebook? Why do they say they don't know where it came from and just give you a pill to mask your symptoms? Do you really realize how utterly idiotic this is? There's no fix anymore! It's all about finding a good drug for you.
Instead of something like: You have a desperate lack of potassium and Vitamin D in your blood makeup and far too high of a level of xyz. What foods have you been eating? Let's find what God made in nature (speaking of Vitamin D - is anyone else a little wide-eyed at the increasing lack of Vitamin D in our society as people hide in the shade 24/7 and wear sunscreen every day of the year? I'm sure there's no connection.) to increase your potassium and avoid such and such foods because they contain high levels of xyz.
If you've ever watched tv in your life, you've likely seen a drug commercial. If you've ever seen a drug commercial, you've seen something like this:
Part 1: Black and white film, sad, aching people with grimaces on their Lazyboy recliner.
Part 2: Sad person nodding at a doctor. Actor portrayal doctor wears a white coat while writing things down and then gives Sadface a prescription.
Part 3: Color film, Sadface is now briskly walking their dog down a sunshiney sidewalk, waving to their neighbors, high-fiving their spouse and climbing mountains.
Voiceover: Do not use Drugox if you are nursing, pregnant, ever want to become pregnant, ever want to father a child, or ever want to use your limbs again. Side effects include blindness, deafness, loss of limb, paralysis, kidney failure, suicidal thoughts, yellowing of the skin and eyeballs, fingernails turning into liquid, and death. In most cases, these problems will not clear up on their own and you should talk to your doctor so he can give you more prescription drugs so you can have more side effects and then take some more drugs that we made to combat the side effects you'll have from taking our chemically-based drugs. Do not take Drugox if you are already taking other drugs because you will slowly die. Unless you want to. We have a drug to help you use those drugs together. Ask your doctor about it. I bet he can solve your problems stat.
Yes. Well. Close enough, anyway.
I'm sure a giant mass of weak, flabby, drugged-up dumbheads who sit around on their squooshy tushies with their face glued to the screen of their tv, iphone and computer absorbed into their tiny lives must be good for something. Hmm, I wonder what that might be. Well, let's not try to guess or learn from history.
Hurry! Back to America's Got Talent!
Don't forget your 5:00 pill.
Peace, love, and zombies,
Ms. Daisy
Monday, November 26, 2012
Consumerism on Crack
We've just finished Thanksgiving week here in the good ol' U.S. of A. If you don't live here, you might not know that this is the time of year when children dress up like pilgrims and Native Americans, people stuff themselves with exorbitant amounts of turkey (or tofurky) and pie, and it is the beginning of complete and utter spaztastic consumerism overdose.
Thanksgiving was (and probably still is) my favorite holiday because it wasn't surrounded by consumerism.
Until now.
Now it could be called Black Friday Eve.
Now my sweet thankfulness holiday is the doorway to a debt-mountain of plastic and made-to-break stuff that nobody needs (or really wants) for the next four-ish weeks until people pass it out on Consumerism Eve, or Christmas (which is supposed to be Jesus' birthday and is now a celebration wherein people put hideous blow-up thingies of Santa and reindeer on their front lawns and eat ham).
It used to be that people went shopping when stores opened on Friday (you know, at a normal time). Someone got a great idea that they could maybe be all exciting and get some sales boost by opening up earlier. They could put the day on the books and it would just be a longer day, which would mean more time for more people to come and spend even more money. People thought it was a great and fun novelty to wake up early from their turkey-induced-comas and go spend all of their money at 6 a.m. The next year, other people in the marketing departments of every other company and store decided they wanted to do it too. Well, the first company was all "oh no they didn't!"-ing and head-wagging and finger-snapping and Butter Battle Booking it back to the drawing board.
So they came up with shopping at 4:00 a.m.
Everyone else thought that was a great idea the next year and followed suit.
Then we saw the era of the news people interviewing people who decided they would like to spend their Thanksgiving away from their family and instead sleeping in a tent in a parking lot of Best Buy so that they could be first in line to buy a laptop (that I am so sure they are still using, good thing they traded it in for time and memories with their loved ones, eh?). Or maybe a PS2 or something totally worth missing Thanksgiving for.
I joked that soon they would be opening stores at midnight and on Thanksgiving day.
Guess what? Stores opened at midnight and 9 p.m. this year on Thanksgiving.
Oh joy.
What if you just said, "Forget THAT!" and instead of heading out to your local plastic junk dealer for their sale of the century, you decided to keep it simple? What if you made something for your loved ones with your own two hands? What if you used your time and talents to give to others in the form of something that will last and mean something to them? What if you went on Etsy instead and/or supported your local economy? What if you decided not to even do gift exchanging and gave your time to somewhere that needed your help? And you wouldn't even have to promise that you will always and forever do it until you die, you could just try it. Once. Maybe just for kicks.
What if you taught your kids that they could bless others? What if they gave of themselves and instead of being little Gimmie Machines they became productive members of society?
Huh.
Nah. I'm sure it's way better to sleep in a parking lot or hey - not even sleep at all! Maybe you can be so tired you're that person who buys a Christmas sweater vest with Santa and a Christmas tree on it, because I am kind of sure that must be the only way someone would ever buy one of those things. Okay, or drunk or high. Or certifiably insane. Unless you made one of those things - I'd give you one point for making something yourself and then take away a point because you are clearly demented and want to torture your loved ones.
Something to ponder (ponderous man, really ponderous).
Peace, love and if you ever buy me a Christmas sweater I will hide it in your couch pillows and leave it at your house,
Ms. Daisy
Thanksgiving was (and probably still is) my favorite holiday because it wasn't surrounded by consumerism.
Until now.
Now it could be called Black Friday Eve.
Now my sweet thankfulness holiday is the doorway to a debt-mountain of plastic and made-to-break stuff that nobody needs (or really wants) for the next four-ish weeks until people pass it out on Consumerism Eve, or Christmas (which is supposed to be Jesus' birthday and is now a celebration wherein people put hideous blow-up thingies of Santa and reindeer on their front lawns and eat ham).
It used to be that people went shopping when stores opened on Friday (you know, at a normal time). Someone got a great idea that they could maybe be all exciting and get some sales boost by opening up earlier. They could put the day on the books and it would just be a longer day, which would mean more time for more people to come and spend even more money. People thought it was a great and fun novelty to wake up early from their turkey-induced-comas and go spend all of their money at 6 a.m. The next year, other people in the marketing departments of every other company and store decided they wanted to do it too. Well, the first company was all "oh no they didn't!"-ing and head-wagging and finger-snapping and Butter Battle Booking it back to the drawing board.
So they came up with shopping at 4:00 a.m.
Everyone else thought that was a great idea the next year and followed suit.
Then we saw the era of the news people interviewing people who decided they would like to spend their Thanksgiving away from their family and instead sleeping in a tent in a parking lot of Best Buy so that they could be first in line to buy a laptop (that I am so sure they are still using, good thing they traded it in for time and memories with their loved ones, eh?). Or maybe a PS2 or something totally worth missing Thanksgiving for.
I joked that soon they would be opening stores at midnight and on Thanksgiving day.
Guess what? Stores opened at midnight and 9 p.m. this year on Thanksgiving.
Oh joy.
What if you just said, "Forget THAT!" and instead of heading out to your local plastic junk dealer for their sale of the century, you decided to keep it simple? What if you made something for your loved ones with your own two hands? What if you used your time and talents to give to others in the form of something that will last and mean something to them? What if you went on Etsy instead and/or supported your local economy? What if you decided not to even do gift exchanging and gave your time to somewhere that needed your help? And you wouldn't even have to promise that you will always and forever do it until you die, you could just try it. Once. Maybe just for kicks.
What if you taught your kids that they could bless others? What if they gave of themselves and instead of being little Gimmie Machines they became productive members of society?
Huh.
Nah. I'm sure it's way better to sleep in a parking lot or hey - not even sleep at all! Maybe you can be so tired you're that person who buys a Christmas sweater vest with Santa and a Christmas tree on it, because I am kind of sure that must be the only way someone would ever buy one of those things. Okay, or drunk or high. Or certifiably insane. Unless you made one of those things - I'd give you one point for making something yourself and then take away a point because you are clearly demented and want to torture your loved ones.
Something to ponder (ponderous man, really ponderous).
Peace, love and if you ever buy me a Christmas sweater I will hide it in your couch pillows and leave it at your house,
Ms. Daisy
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Mary Jane's Farm
As you have heard, Martha Stewart dumped me. I am now in the quest for exploring new magazines, and oooh la la, I've found a doozy!
It's called Mary Jane's Farm and my aunt passes it along to me when she is finished with it. They've got a lot of interesting articles, one of them included the idea of "Glamping" - glamorous camping. These ladies go out with lace pillows, prom dresses, the whole 9 and get those totally adorable and awesome looking 50's tin trailer bubble RV's and glam them up. If it didn't get my prom dress dirty, I would be all over it. As long as it had extreme heat capabilities also. Cold = yuck.
They also feature organic gardening, doing-it-yourself stuff, health news, how to be non-toxic, etc.
I read an article in there that I enjoyed so much, I wanted to share a piece of it with you. The author, Mary Jane, was bitten by a cat when she was in her twenties and actually got "cat scratch fever". The real deal. Ow. A doctor she visited suggested the right way to go was to have her lymph nodes removed. She knew better than to do that.
But that's the whole deal with the modern thought in medicine. It's most invasive first, then down to least invasive. It's surgery first before lifestyle change. I think that's messed up.
In her article, she quotes from a man named Dr. Lundell (a heart surgeon). Here is a quick quote:
"Dr. Lundell's argument is that chronic inflammation, not cholesterol, is the bad guy when it comes to heart disease. In a recent article on PreventDisease.com, he even goes so far as to say that the current treatment of cholesterol-lowering medications and a strict low-fat diet 'are no longer scientifically or morally defensible."'
Hey. Do you have high cholesterol? Have you been taking meds and avoiding fat like the plague? Well... maybe you don't need to do that anymore. Actually, I would go so far to say as that might not even be the right thing to do at all.
Dr. Lundell has operated on over 5,000 patients, all of whom had inflammation in their arteries. He says, "Without inflammation in the body, there is no way that cholesterol would accumulate in the walls of the blood vessels and cause heart disease." Did you hear what he just said? Read it again! Inflammation, not cholesterol, is the real problem. Cholesterol is produced by our bodies to help us. It helps fight stress and is a natural substance. When we get things out of whack by eating improperly (and I don't mean you ought to eat a low-fat diet; I mean you ought to be avoiding quasi-foodlike substances as if your life depended on it. Oh wait, it does.), you irritate your insides!
Mary Jane's article states, "Our bodies work to protect us. Cholesterol is something your body produces to help fight inflammation. So, the more inflammation you have, the higher your cholesterol will be - as it should. Inhibiting the cholesterol without easing the inflammation creates a cycle that may be doing more harm than good. Inflammation is not always bad. Like with my swollen lymph nodes. It's one way your body defends itself. Dr. Lundell believes the problem is chronic inflammation caused by the typical American diet, notorious for highly-processed foods with an excess of sugar and vegetable oils. He says, 'The human body cannot process, nor was it designed to consume, foods packed with sugars and soaked in omega-6 oils.'" (Health & Wellness News section, Mary Jane's Farm - August/September 2012 issue, p.37)
I've read articles about Big Sugar that show that the sugar industry has actually pointed its crack-laden finger at cholesterol in an effort to remove the reputation for clear and obvious danger from itself. The research is out there. Dig. F'real. You just might save your life if you get it right.
And if you just need some straight up entertainment on that sugary subject, go check out this youtube video from 60 Minutes. The video itself is not entertaining per se, the entertainment comes when the interviewer is speaking with the Big Sugar dude who is probably a zillion-jillion-ga-billionaire. The dude dresses up and pretends to be a FARMER and makes sure to interview in a barn with a tractor behind him so he can look exceptionally wholesome. The very best part of all is when Mr. Sugarfakerbillionaire looks perplexingly, nay - seemingly dumbfounded! - at the suggestion that sugar could perhaps not be good for people and stares off into space as if he is pondering something he has never ever heard before. It is especially entertaining as he is not really a good liar/actor and he pulls a slimy politician thing and avoids the question completely with nonsensical answers. Raise your hand if you're shocked! Oh. Yeah.
Anyway, if you want some more infotainment, go get yourself a subscription to that cool magazine!
Peace, love and don't hate on your cholesterol,
Ms. Daisy
It's called Mary Jane's Farm and my aunt passes it along to me when she is finished with it. They've got a lot of interesting articles, one of them included the idea of "Glamping" - glamorous camping. These ladies go out with lace pillows, prom dresses, the whole 9 and get those totally adorable and awesome looking 50's tin trailer bubble RV's and glam them up. If it didn't get my prom dress dirty, I would be all over it. As long as it had extreme heat capabilities also. Cold = yuck.
 |
| A new book by Mary Jane - Glamping! The cover says it all. |
They also feature organic gardening, doing-it-yourself stuff, health news, how to be non-toxic, etc.
I read an article in there that I enjoyed so much, I wanted to share a piece of it with you. The author, Mary Jane, was bitten by a cat when she was in her twenties and actually got "cat scratch fever". The real deal. Ow. A doctor she visited suggested the right way to go was to have her lymph nodes removed. She knew better than to do that.
But that's the whole deal with the modern thought in medicine. It's most invasive first, then down to least invasive. It's surgery first before lifestyle change. I think that's messed up.
In her article, she quotes from a man named Dr. Lundell (a heart surgeon). Here is a quick quote:
"Dr. Lundell's argument is that chronic inflammation, not cholesterol, is the bad guy when it comes to heart disease. In a recent article on PreventDisease.com, he even goes so far as to say that the current treatment of cholesterol-lowering medications and a strict low-fat diet 'are no longer scientifically or morally defensible."'
Hey. Do you have high cholesterol? Have you been taking meds and avoiding fat like the plague? Well... maybe you don't need to do that anymore. Actually, I would go so far to say as that might not even be the right thing to do at all.
Dr. Lundell has operated on over 5,000 patients, all of whom had inflammation in their arteries. He says, "Without inflammation in the body, there is no way that cholesterol would accumulate in the walls of the blood vessels and cause heart disease." Did you hear what he just said? Read it again! Inflammation, not cholesterol, is the real problem. Cholesterol is produced by our bodies to help us. It helps fight stress and is a natural substance. When we get things out of whack by eating improperly (and I don't mean you ought to eat a low-fat diet; I mean you ought to be avoiding quasi-foodlike substances as if your life depended on it. Oh wait, it does.), you irritate your insides!
Mary Jane's article states, "Our bodies work to protect us. Cholesterol is something your body produces to help fight inflammation. So, the more inflammation you have, the higher your cholesterol will be - as it should. Inhibiting the cholesterol without easing the inflammation creates a cycle that may be doing more harm than good. Inflammation is not always bad. Like with my swollen lymph nodes. It's one way your body defends itself. Dr. Lundell believes the problem is chronic inflammation caused by the typical American diet, notorious for highly-processed foods with an excess of sugar and vegetable oils. He says, 'The human body cannot process, nor was it designed to consume, foods packed with sugars and soaked in omega-6 oils.'" (Health & Wellness News section, Mary Jane's Farm - August/September 2012 issue, p.37)
I've read articles about Big Sugar that show that the sugar industry has actually pointed its crack-laden finger at cholesterol in an effort to remove the reputation for clear and obvious danger from itself. The research is out there. Dig. F'real. You just might save your life if you get it right.
And if you just need some straight up entertainment on that sugary subject, go check out this youtube video from 60 Minutes. The video itself is not entertaining per se, the entertainment comes when the interviewer is speaking with the Big Sugar dude who is probably a zillion-jillion-ga-billionaire. The dude dresses up and pretends to be a FARMER and makes sure to interview in a barn with a tractor behind him so he can look exceptionally wholesome. The very best part of all is when Mr. Sugarfakerbillionaire looks perplexingly, nay - seemingly dumbfounded! - at the suggestion that sugar could perhaps not be good for people and stares off into space as if he is pondering something he has never ever heard before. It is especially entertaining as he is not really a good liar/actor and he pulls a slimy politician thing and avoids the question completely with nonsensical answers. Raise your hand if you're shocked! Oh. Yeah.
Anyway, if you want some more infotainment, go get yourself a subscription to that cool magazine!
Peace, love and don't hate on your cholesterol,
Ms. Daisy
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