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Gay Panda picks organic over conventional, but if the only choice is conventional, and Gay Panda has a fabulous recipe that requires tomatoes, conventional it is.
The last time we shopped, there was a marvelous display of plump cherries. I wavered, since I had already chosen raspberries and blackberries, but the cherries looked entrancing and I haven't had any in a long time. Yet I do not want to stall my weight loss and cherries are expensive and I was getting the rib eye and still need to pay a twenty-cent library fine and was the kitty on the sofa when I left? Or did I send her to Narnia yet again when I was getting out fresh towels from the closet?
I think Lady Friend was right on this call. Here are some cheat sheets for you, I think all from the same original source but still here you go:
Produce where the crazy extra premium for "organic" is worth is, and other stuff where you shouldn't worry about it:
"If man made it, don't eat it." ..Jack LaLanne "It doesn't matter how beautiful your theory is, it doesn't matter how smart you are.
If it doesn't agree with experiment, it's wrong." ..Richard Feynman beachrat'snew primal journal
GP, I think you're right on with hiding this journal from LF. My FB and his mom (who I have never met, makes it all the more awkward) have somehow found mine (I guess I shouldn't have done things like broadcasting where I was and using my actual name as my username...rookie undercover agent mistakes!) and it's made me tooootally self conscious and weird about writing on it. Secrecy wins...you can do it!
Gay Panda writes a lot about magic, and wishes that it were possible to step into those worlds created on the keyboard. But my life is made of the relentless ordinary, as is everyone’s, except for the lucky few with ESP featured on Unsolved Mysteries. My quest to master magic began as a five-year-old cub drunk on fairy books and television. After watching The Wizard of Oz, I shook out my piggy bank, filled my pockets with grubby coins equaling one dollar and seventy-three cents, and took the kitchen broom out to the driveway. Then I straddled it and waited for it to lift and whisk me to Disneyland. I sat there until nightfall, frustrated that there was not enough wind to help me take off.
In second grade, I was convinced that if I galloped fast enough, I would turn into a Pegasus. After fueling myself by eating grass*, I raced over the field at recess with my eyes trained on the fence penning me in. At any second, my arms and legs would lengthen and wings would sprout from my back, and I would soar over the fence and into freedom! But it never worked. I believed that the fault was mine. It wasn’t that my goal was impossible; I just hadn’t achieved enough speed.
Then I tried desperately to read minds. Knowing that many young magicians first access their powers through times of terrible stress, I practiced wakening this latent skill with exams. Studying would have defeated the purpose, so I would take my tests fully unprepared, narrowing my eyes at my fourth grade teacher** and trying to pull names of biomes and dates of wars right out of her brain. My report cards that year reflected that I wasn’t putting in anywhere near the hours of practice necessary.
By high school I had failed at every magical arena in which I entered. My dreams did not tell the future. I could not communicate with the dead. Dowsing rods didn’t tremble in my hands and I couldn’t set fires with my mind.*** Yet I believed that if I parted my hair just so, if I dropped a bon mot at the perfect moment, that someone wonderful would fall madly in love and steal me away, and my ordinary life would finally get its breath of magic. I graduated from high school every bit as single as I had entered it four years earlier.
Years ago, I watched the show Biggest Loser, and felt that stirring of hope in magic again. Chunky people were exercising madly and reducing calories and changing from blob to heart throb in no time. Yet I was already reducing calories and running, and had whittled myself down some, but my body refused to lower further. I could not stay at that weight no matter how long I ran or how little I ate, and finally, in exhaustion, I had to stop. The pounds sprung back. But maybe I just hadn’t been doing it right, like my failed magical experiments in childhood. Maybe I needed Jillian Michaels screaming in my face, the cords of her neck bulging with rage. Maybe I needed to eat even less, 500 calories a day, to win this battle for my body.
So I felt vindicated and defeated to later read that article in Time about how it hadn’t been magic at all. The contestants were severely dehydrated and eating bizarrely, and many of them regained the weight after the show. When it came to my own body, I just didn’t know what to do any longer. Not only was there no magic, there didn’t seem to be any science either. I thought about joining NAAFA and moving to acceptance, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Chance led me to MDA, and comment threads to Taubes. So there was science, and it’s gotten me from 217 to 190.8 without starving or exercising half to death. I still long for magic, but at least I have science in my pointy black hat. While it’s not as exciting as if that broom had really lifted, or if I’d turned into a mind-reading Pegasus who could talk to the dead, there is still something subtly magical in having some control after so long of having none. Primal is a slow-acting Alice in Wonderland potion making me smaller. And all the rest that I wanted to have, the powers of glamour and flight and telekinesis, I enjoy vicariously through the characters in my books, and that will have to be enough.
I've always wanted to be able to teleport, especially if I could drag my kids along. All the hauling I do for/of them would be so much better if I could do it in the blink of an eye. Although they are teenagers and it hasn't happened once, I am still working on it. I've read enough science fiction/fantasy to know that it's there, just waiting to be tapped. At my age though, menopause might be the next big change that brings it on. Damn, that bites.
I've always wanted to be able to teleport, especially if I could drag my kids along. I've read enough science fiction/fantasy to know that it's there, just waiting to be tapped.
Keep working on it! You'll get there! Looking over that list, I'm amazed at my persistence in the face of such failure. I just KNEW in my heart that I'd be able to resurrect the goldfish, just as I KNEW that I'd be able to roller skate down a flight of stairs, and that poor teacher put up with me staring at her for the entirety of fourth grade, determined to fish facts from her mind. One day we'll both tap our powers at last.
*** Also failed: accelerated healing, invisibility, kinetic absorption, sonic screaming, superhuman breath/strength/intelligence... (lots and lots and lots of possible magical powers...) rapid aging, soul sucking, and omniscience.
Well, you have made some 12% of yourself disappear, so perhaps your powers are just late blooming...?
Primal: going sane.
"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results."
- Rita Mae Brown, though frequently attributed to Albert Einstein, Mark Twain, or Benjamin Franklin...