Not Even Chicken?

I'm a vegetarian.

I don't eat meat. No, not even chicken. No, not even fish. In fact, most of my food choices are vegan, which means I don't even eat milk, dairy or eggs. So think about it. I don't eat cheese, yogurt, cottage cheese, Cheetos, quesadillas, omlettes, milkshakes, most cookies or cakes including my beloved cheesecake unless they're vegan (God BLESS you Amanda at Black Sheep Bakery http://www.blacksheepbakery.com/).

So what DO you eat?

Right, that's always the next question and it always has an easy answer. EVERYTHING ELSE. Pasta, potatoes, bread, rice, everything green (kale, spinach, cabbage, broccoli, zucchini asparagus, beans, peas, lentils, pears, grapes, apples), everything red or orange (carrots, peppers, squash, yams, cabbage, oranges, apples, pears, grapes), plus nuts and seeds (peanuts, cashews, hazelnuts, almonds, Brazil nuts, pine nuts, sunflower seeds, sesame seeds and pumpkin seeds). I love Thai, Vietnamese, Italian, Mexican, African and Indian foods. Yum. Everything I eat has tons of flavor, color and variety. I only get bored with my food as often as anybody else would. Then I know it's time to crack open the cookbook and try something new.

Why are you a vegetarian?

My reasons are many and have been accumulated over several years of personal experience and study. Some people watch a PETA video on how animals are slaughtered http://www.petatv.com/tvpopup/video.asp?video=meet_your_meat&Player=wm and become a vegetarian on the spot vowing to never eat meat again. Maybe they keep that vow, maybe they don't. Who am I to judge? Everyone has their own journey.

For me it has been a sloooowwww process that started with a weight loss effort. I was counting calories like mad and meat was too calorically expensive. So I just ate chicken, which somehow seemed less like meat to me and was also within my meager caloric budget. My husband, who was dieting with me was not a fish or pork fan, kept those items off our plates, so chicken it was. I lost a bunch of weight that summer along with any desire to ever eat chicken again because I'd eaten it everyday twice a day for 12 weeks.

After that I read Marilu Henner's book Total Health Makeover which included information about food combining and I realized how much easier it would be to food combine and to have a centered diet, so to speak, if meat were not part of the equation. http://www.marilu.com/TotalHealthMakeover.asp

That Can’t Be Healthy

Scientists around the world who study the relationship between diet and cancer and heart disease agree that a plant-based diet that eschews animal products has a significantly lower risk of causing most cancers than a diet rich in animal products including meat and dairy. In fact, a plant-based diet has been found to prevent cancers and other common diseases that plague those in industrialized nations. http://www.cancercode.org/code_04.htm

Then I read Food Revolution by John Robbins and that was pretty much it for me. All meat was right out. I had been abstaining from cooking and eating meat at home, but would eat it at my mom's house or with friends or if we went out for dinner if I wanted it. But at this point, my choice was clear. Meat--not for me. It was pretty easy. If I could keep eating without harming any animals, then I would. I had learned how to cook veggie meals I liked by then, so I knew it wouldn't be hard to keep doing that all the time. The hard part came when I was with my family and they pressured me to eat meat. They insisted it wasn't healthy to avoid meat. Any information from Food Revolution I gave them to the contrary was not exactly welcomed, shall we say. We don’t talk about it anymore. http://www.foodrevolution.org/

Years passed merrily, as Portland is a verrrrrry veg-friendly town.

Then I recently started reading The China Study by T. Colin Campbell , which points out that animal products, specifically the protein they studied in dairy products, casein, is directly linked to cancer, despite the fact that Campbell began his research to disprove such findings. Yet another confrontation to my eating habits, as cheese was still making its way into my diet from time to time. Parmesan on my pasta, mainly. Other than that, I could do without cheese, but parmesan? Damn. In fact, I'm about to go pick up a tofu scramble with sun dried tomatoes, spinach and veggie sausage with a little bit of cheese. It's a tough one for me to give up. I'm especially impressed with Mr. Kick in the Butt Karin, who was a Cheese-a-holic, but who is now completely vegan and reports clear sinuses for the first time in his life. http://www.thechinastudy.com/

Another reason for being a veghead. Karma. What goes around comes around, baby. I can eat delicious beautiful healthy non-cholesterol-laden, non-carcinogenic foods everyday and no body has to die. I didn't used to think about things like that, but I do now and that seems to work for me.

Plus, some studies show that eating a plant-based diet all or most of the time is equivalent to driving an insanely fuel-efficient car in terms of environmental friendliness. The amount of industrial waste produced by factory farming, it has been claimed, is the leading cause of global warming, not the usurpation and burning of fossil fuels, though that certainly doesn’t help. (See The Way We Eat, Why Our Food Choices Matter by Peter Singer and Jim Mason.)

So, to recap. My Top Reasons for Being a Vegetarian/Almost Vegan:

1. It's healthy and good for my body. But let's be clear, not all of us vegetarians are pale and tragic waifs. I'm just enough overweight that strangers regularly ask me if I'm pregnant. Damn them. (note to self: lose those last 40 lbs.)
2. It's good for the animals.
3. Karma.
4. It's good for the environment.

So, what are you, and why?
-I'm an omnivore: I eat everything.
-I'm a vegetarian + fish/chicken/cheese/eggs.
-I'm a vegetarian + cheese/eggs.
-I'm a vegetarian + cheese.
-I'm vegan.
Or some other terrific combination?
Everybody has a story or relationship with food. Why do you eat what you eat?

No One Should Be Up at This Hour

No one should be up at this hour. It's before noon on a weekend day. It's before nine on a weekend day. Despite the fact that I went to bed at 3:46am for reasons I will not discuss here (okay, I'm just a night owl, you dragged it outta me), I am awake a mere five hours later. This was not my plan. As you can imagine, my plan was to sleep until I was NOT TIRED ANYMORE, because that never happens during the week. It's such a fabulous weekend luxury. Go to bed when I want, get up when I want and alarm clocks have nothing to do with it. I know, crazy idea, but I put in my Church and Puritan Work Ethic years. I've already done that time--staying up late on Saturdays (because I'm a night owl), and then waking up at o'dark thirty to Bless the Lord, O My Soul with All That is Within Me. Been there, done that. I believed it made me a better person and now I don't, so now I stay up late on Saturday nights (because I'm a night owl) and then sleep until I'm NOT TIRED ANYMORE. I get plenty done in my life, just not before noon on the weekends. But "damn my shit" if I ain't up when I'm still tired. Let me tell you why.


Because MOTHBALL STROGANOFF MAN is concocting toxic fumes in his laundry room just below our bedroom. He may think he's just doing laundry, but in reality he's slowly killing us. There is no insulation between us to keep out his noxious doings. At 8:25am I woke up on a Sunday morning not because I WASN'T TIRED ANYMORE, but because my eyes, nose and throat burned. Happy F&%Kin' Sunday mornin' to you, too. WTF? I have a giant headache now in addition to the low grade headache I always have. Thanks a LOT buddy. I'm Forever Grateful To You. (You Jesus Freaks, current or former will know what I mean.)


Last night I walked into the house to discover that he was making Mothball Stroganoff, his favorite meal, while smoking. Charming. There is an explicit no smoking policy in this historic building which everyone else seems to be able to adhere to. What makes him so special? Our entire apartment smelled like smoke. If I wanted to smoke, I'd set myself on fire.


Perhaps I need to embrace diversity. Perhaps I haven't fully explored the finer qualities of Smoked Mothball Stroganoff. Perhaps I should ask for the recipe!

Mothball Stroganoff

I swear this must be what our new neighbor makes for dinner every night. What the hell can he be cooking that generates this odor? It's disgusting. Despite all our best efforts to tape his duct work that runs throughout our basement and now serves as a Mothball Stroganoff conduit, the stench of fresh hot mothball stroganoff comes piping into our apartment practically every goddamn night. We should invest in duct tape; we've used so much of it.

I've begun to eschew the entire downstairs (basement) altogether just to avoid his offensive odors. Odors, plural. You see, while we each have our own basement areas including our own washer/dryer units, these are only separated by hastily tacked up plywood, this being the only unfinished area of an otherwise solidly built, nicely maintained rental. Anyway, when our lovely new neighbor does his laundry, we can smell it. Now, before you get all in a bunch about this, please note that I wouldn't mind at all if he used laundry detergent and dryer sheets like the rest of us. I could even handle it if he used that nasty strong-smelling store-brand cheap stuff. But no, our guy cleans his clothes with battery acid and Drano. If I'm downstairs when he does laundry, my eyes, nose and throat start burning and I have to run upstairs Before. I. Die.

And I'm not the canary in the mineshaft in our marriage. That's Mr. Karin's job. I can be going along thinking everything's fine and he just passes out dead from some noxious fume I hadn't yet detected. Or I'll come home from work and within a minute he'll say, "You've had garlic today. woo! And you were around somebody who has a dog. And a cat, too." He's some kind of olfactory detective. Hard to believe we haven't made a game of this. He'll get into my car, which I think I've kept quite tidy, thank you, because I've removed the rotten apple cores from summer and the Spicy Blackbean Gardenburger wrappers from Burgerville that I don't want him to know I've eaten, and he'll declare it a toxic waste site, that we should get out of the car immediately and that no one should ever drive this car again because the air quality inside is so horrendous.

So you understand now how significantly powerful the odors emanating from our dear neighbor must be if they are causing me to run screaming like one running from Godzilla.

Not even one?

I'm not having any kids. No, not even one.

I decided in college, to the shock and awe of my Elementary Ed. friends, that I didn't want to have any kids. I love kids. I love to teach them. I love to play with them. I love to lead them. I love to hop them up on sugar and give them back to their parents with noisy toys on Christmas.

I am an aunt ten times over. I am truly madly deeply in love with my brother's four children. The day his first kid was born turned my world inside out. Here's the photographic evidence to prove it.

Not that there's anything wrong with having children. It's that something in me just knew that I wanted to spend my life's energy on other things. Travel, Education, Service of Others. I didn't want to (and still don't want to) be torn between the duties and joys of motherhood and My Life's Calling, whatever that means. (This may explain my current early mid-life crisis as, upon reflection, there has been woefully little travel and education, though I'm not doing too badly in the Service to Others department and that feels good.)

Here are some of the responses I've gotten from those who know and love me and complete strangers alike:

• You must be a lesbian. (nope.)
• You are a very angry person. (sometimes, but what's that to you?)
• You have a terrible mother. (emphatic nope. see my Sugar Sugar blog http://karinleak.blogspot.com/.)
• You must have children. God says so. (I've clarified with people. The Bible indicates that God told all the creepy crawly things to be fruitful and multiply just after creation. Okay, I get that. Then again to Adam and Eve. Be fruitful and multiply. Okay, sure. Then once more to Noah and his family after the Great Flood. Really, people. I don't think under population is an issue anymore.)
• You'd make a great mother. (Thanks, but I'd like to sleep sometime in the next 20 years.)
• You're selfish. (You are so right. You know me so well.)
• Not even one? (WTF? No. Not even one.)
• You should at least have a boy. (The feminist in me rages. A Chinese friend of mine said that her name means, "Well, the next one will be a boy." Aaaaarrrrrrgh!!! Nevermind that you can't force the baby to be a boy or a girl, or that I'd prefer a girl if I had to have one at all.)

The only thing that sometimes, but sadly does not always, flick people's noses out of my business is when I tell them, "I'm happy with my life the way it is."

"O-kaaaay," they skeptically say. Then they add, "You're sure? Not even one?"

What about you? Kids? No kids? Greatest Aunt/Uncle ever?

And, as always, my follow up question, the one that makes life worth living: Why?

Mental Constipation

So, I have lots of things I could write about, but I'm too afraid to talk about them.

Do you ever feel like that?

Dork Like Me

Inspired by Michael 5000's Dorkfest '07 http://michael5000.blogspot.com/, I shall now present to you, my three maybe four gentle readers, clear and present examples of my dorkiness.


Scrabble Stories


I have been known, on occasion, to play Speed Scrabble, which involves ditching that useless board altogether, drawing seven tiles from a mess of them in the middle of the table, then, at an agreed upon moment, assembling them as quickly as possible into words on your own private grid. Once someone has used all their letters they yell "draw two" or "draw one" if several dorks are playing. Play continues in this fashion until all the tiles are taken and played. If you're stuck you can destroy your words and start over if you think you have the time. The first person to use all their tiles wins. Uh...wins the thrill of victory as points aren't really kept, although they can be for those math dorks out there.


The best part, though, comes next. Scrabble Stories. Everyone gets ten minutes to free-write something creative and fun, creepy, silly, scary, whathaveyou as long as it contains all of the words created during Speed Scrabble. Then you go around and read your stories aloud and laugh and laugh. It's a good time. If you're a dork.


Here are two of my Scrabble Stories: (My Scrabble words appear in purple.)


1.
The writers gathered at the inn, this time during the hottest summer on record. If only the fan worked. Nevertheless, they wrote funny pieces and slapped their knees at their jokes. At lunch, the women on diets weighed their roe to the gram, not wanting to exceed their caloric limit. Ultimately, they deemed it too expensive and axed it from their menu.


2.
The guy didn’t care that he had HIV. He feared the smell of the hospital ward wafting from the patients who were sicker than he was. As sick as he would become. Last week, as he walked past the nurses’ station, he heard an Indian family chanting over their son. Meditation was an art form he’d never learned to appreciate. Now he wouldn’t have time to learn it. The elevator dinged, the doors opened and he stepped onto the AIDS ward for his second treatment.



Word Jumble


My mother and I used to do the Word Jumble in the Living Section of the newspaper every single day. When I got a place of my own, we did them over the phone and on weekends when I went over to do laundry. For Mother's Day one year I hand-made a Word Jumble Mother's Day card complete with drawing and riddle. And no, I wasn't 10. I was 25 when I made this. So great is dorkiness and my love for my Ma. She loved it. Oh, yeah. She was a dork, too.

Coke for Breakfast

'Tis the season to be coughing, aching, sneezing with a stuffy head so you can't rest and need to take NyQuil, I guess, gauging from the coughing and hacking I've been hearing at work lately.

This happens every year when kids go back to school. You don't even need to have kids or work with kids to suddenly be exposed to extra germs this time of year. Everyone else who has kids will take care of that for you.


So I'm noticing that several over-worked, over-tired coworkers have been fabulously sick lately. So sick that I don't recognize their voices when they answer their phones and I become convinced that all new people have been hired without my knowledge or I'm in some useless work dream. So sick that it makes me want to constantly use Purell hand sanitizer even though I think it's a ruse and even though the smell of it makes me think that pantyhosed and mightily coiffed women from my mother's church group from the 1970s have just descended upon me with a can of AquaNet hairspray.

I effortlessly overhear my coworkers rambling on and on to each other, between coughs and hacks, from the other side of the cube wall about how much it sucks to be sick and how everyone they know is sick and everyone they love is sick and everyone they live with is sick and how they should really just be home and in bed. And I'm thinking, "Uh, duh." I went to college for such advanced analyses of psycho-social situations.

And then I hear it. I hear the unmistakable metallic crack-whoosh of someone opening a Can of Coke. I think, "Oh, My God. What the Hell Time Is It? It's 10am and You're SICK. WTF!?" But just in case I'm wrong I invent a reason to swing by their cubicles to sneak a peek. Indeed, they, The Sick Ones, The Coughing Up a Lung Ones were drinking Cokes for Breakfast.

I don't get this. I really don't.