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  • are you SURE that chicken was really made of chicken?
    beautiful
    yeah you are

    Baby if you time travel back far enough you can avoid that work because the dust won't be there. You're too pretty to be working that hard.
    lol

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    • hahahahahahahahahaahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahh ahahahahahahahahhaaaaaahahahhahahahahahahahahhahah ahahahahahahahahhahahahahhahahhahhahahahhahhahahah ahahahahhahahahahhahahahhahahahhahahahahhahhahaha

      That is all.
      Ancestral Nutrition Coaching
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      Primal Pregnancy Nutrition Article

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      • Oh Panda, i love your stories. Although I can't quite get my head round you not being able to roast a Jean-Cluck. Maybe I am getting old? Strewth, I am getting old! Damn it. I have just realized that I am 52. That is old by anyone's standards.

        And then I remember that you have been a veggie for a long time - and chucking chicks clucks into the oven is not your scene.

        Mind you, I am crap at cooking. Total crap. And this new Primal thing is challenging my crapedness. I have found one wonderful site that helps me with my lack of cooking skills. www.modernpaleowarfare.com

        They bring the sex back into cooking! Give it a bash and see what you think.
        Last edited by ItinerantChild; 10-16-2011, 09:46 AM.

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        • Originally posted by ItinerantChild View Post
          Although I can't quite get my head round you not being able to roast a Jean-Cluck.

          And then I remember that you have been a veggie for a long time - and chucking chicks clucks into the oven is not your scene.

          Mind you, I am crap at cooking. Total crap. And this new Primal thing is challenging my crapedness. I have found one wonderful site that helps me with my lack of cooking skills. Modern Paleo Warfare
          Thanks for the site! I will check that out.

          I never learned how to cook as a cub and then as a young adult I slid into almost-vegetarianism. It is very easy to live out of a can and rice steamer as an almost-vegetarian. Occasionally, I bought ready-made meats from the store, or would get a steak in a restaurant. So that is how I have lived this long before learning how to roast a Jean-Cluck Picard. It is a little embarrassing.
          JOIN THE PANDA SHOW!!! Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS and PANDALOONERY!

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          • Originally posted by Gay Panda View Post
            Thanks for the site! I will check that out.

            I never learned how to cook as a cub and then as a young adult I slid into almost-vegetarianism. It is very easy to live out of a can and rice steamer as an almost-vegetarian. Occasionally, I bought ready-made meats from the store, or would get a steak in a restaurant. So that is how I have lived this long before learning how to roast a Jean-Cluck Picard. It is a little embarrassing.

            I was cooking at 13. Making a lot of SAD but I learned how to cook. Much of it was self taught. I hated Home Ec in school so after junior high, I just started reading cookbooks and taught myself to cook. Since the males weren't interested in me, that is what I did with my free time.
            Georgette

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            • Originally posted by geostump View Post
              I was cooking at 13. Making a lot of SAD but I learned how to cook. Much of it was self taught. I hated Home Ec in school so after junior high, I just started reading cookbooks and taught myself to cook. Since the males weren't interested in me, that is what I did with my free time.
              By 13, I could no longer take the tension at the Panda Family table, so I would take my meals to my bedroom and eat there alone. I did that 364 days a year, the exception being Thanksgiving when we faked a happy family face for my visiting grandmother.

              Cooking was always a mysterious process in my eyes, and it did not once occur to me to get a cookbook out of the library until I was an adult. I applaud you for your youthful initiative! I just avoided the whole thing.
              JOIN THE PANDA SHOW!!! Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS and PANDALOONERY!

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              • Love your journal! You could consider Donner Street named after one of Santa's reindeer and consider that reindeer meat would be tasty and good for you. My 4 year old thinks pork chops are reindeer meat and I see no need to persuade him otherwise. Around last Christmas I asked him what he wanted for dinner and he said reindeer. So I told him the pork chops were reindeer meat and he's called pork that ever since. He eats it so I am good with it.

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                • Originally posted by Gay Panda View Post
                  By 13, I could no longer take the tension at the Panda Family table, so I would take my meals to my bedroom and eat there alone. I did that 364 days a year, the exception being Thanksgiving when we faked a happy family face for my visiting grandmother.

                  Cooking was always a mysterious process in my eyes, and it did not once occur to me to get a cookbook out of the library until I was an adult. I applaud you for your youthful initiative! I just avoided the whole thing.
                  At that point, it was just my mom and I and she stopped cooking entirely. I had to pick up the slack somewhere.
                  Georgette

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                  • Originally posted by hockeyfan7 View Post
                    Love your journal! You could consider Donner Street named after one of Santa's reindeer and consider that reindeer meat would be tasty and good for you. My 4 year old thinks pork chops are reindeer meat and I see no need to persuade him otherwise.
                    What a cheerful way of looking at Donner Street! I was too swift to go to the macabre. But in my defense, there is also a cemetery on that same road as my CSA. Just classic.
                    JOIN THE PANDA SHOW!!! Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS and PANDALOONERY!

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                    • PART ONE: Today I woke up thinking about failed messages.

                      When I was a cub of seven, the Panda Family went to a carnival. I played a game where one sprays a hose at a target that fills a balloon, and if you are the first to make your balloon pop, you win a stuffed animal chock full of toxic flame-retardants. My balloon popped first and I was awarded a fat stuffed sheep, who I determined would be my new best friend, while it determined to poison me slowly.

                      On the drive home, I clutched the sheep to my chest and worked on how it would fit into my stuffed family. Each had a name and rank, quarterly report cards if they were young and work evaluations if they were older. They had friends and sworn enemies, some were heroes and others were villains, and I was convinced that they came alive at night. Engaging in glorious battles and pagan dances, they stormed the floor of my bedroom and somehow always, always managed to freeze the second I woke up to peep over the top bunk bed. It was very frustrating, but I was sure I would catch them in time.

                      I had one other stuffed sheep, an anemic creature with wobbly legs that would not hold him up, and as I pondered the relationship between that one and this new one, Father Panda apropos of nothing, said, “Young Panda, if you grow up and marry a black, Hispanic, or Asian, you will be disowned. Do you know what that means?”

                      Marriage is not a very interesting topic in the world of a seven-year-old. I was more concerned with my new stuffed animal, if its basic nature was good or bad, how it would relate to my main antagonist Mean Kitty*, if its first report card would show brilliance or stupidity. I hugged my sheep closer, more interested in finding the right name, and the sheep snuggled closer to me, more interested in giving me cancer. “No, Father.”

                      “Disowned means that Mommy and Daddy will never speak to you again. If you marry a black, Hispanic, or Asian, we will never, ever talk to you, and you can’t come home to visit.”
                      “Not even for Christmas?” I asked, absolutely baffled.
                      “No,” Father Panda said. “You won’t get any presents at all, and we’ll pretend that you don’t exist.” You might think that this was the point that Valhalla giggled and made me gay as a karmic bitch-slap to Father Panda. But I’ve known that I was gay since preschool, even if I didn’t know the word, and didn’t connect the word once I did know it to myself until I was 17.

                      I hugged squishy Cancer Sheep even tighter as I pondered Father Panda’s words. I went to a school with every shade of skin, no value was attached to the color you happened to be, and there were few incidents of any kind based on race or country-of-origin**. We had small differences, some kids were bilingual, some had different foods in their lunches, but mostly we were the same. We loved recess and Pizza Day. We were scared of the substitute teacher Mrs. Fright Night. We all wanted to play the chimes in music. Our insults concerned intelligence levels, scent, and nose picking, not skin color.

                      In order to demonize a group, it has to be seen as separate from your own. But my world was a racially diverse and sheltered private school where value was determined by how fast a person ran at recess, not the color of the legs doing so. Since race did not define us at school or church, or anywhere else in my life, I could not make sense of what Father Panda said. I tucked it away in my mental file of bewildering things to mull over and returned to playing with Cancer Sheep.
                      JOIN THE PANDA SHOW!!! Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS and PANDALOONERY!

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                      • PART TWO: He undercut his own message by sending me to a school where I played and fought and studied with the same people that he was making an off-limits Other. The surnames Wong and Sanchez were as familiar to me as Williams and Smith. So why were certain kids fine to play with in the sandbox now but not to date in the future? Why were they worth less? If they truly were worth less, why did no one in my school treat them so? Pale Young Gay Panda and a darker friend got in equal trouble for the same misdeed. While trying to marginalize others, my father marginalized himself, a lone voice of strangeness in my fair, orderly school world, and I never imbibed his worldview.

                        However, had I lived in a homogenous community with powerful voices backing him up, I might have. A gullible young panda could have been convinced that the small differences between us were actually dangerous chasms. How would I have known any better? The seeds planted in my cubhood might have blossomed into a very ugly garden by my adult years. Once entrenched, certain messages are very hard, and sometimes impossible, to dislodge.

                        Race was only one of the messages I got during that car ride home from the carnival. Packaged with it were messages about marriage and behavior and power and presumed heterosexuality, and that parental love was conditional. It could be withdrawn, and I could be cast out and eliminated. There was also a loaded message about romantic love: that if one day the person who was right for me had an unacceptable surname, I would have to choose between that person and Christmas presents.

                        We get millions of messages on every topic from the day we’re born, from dress to gender to food to social etiquette to body image to religion. If you rove through MDA journals like Gay Panda does, you read over and over how people battle with very powerful messages that we’ve received since childhood about nutrition. When I read Why We Get Fat last April, I felt like Taubes was taking a shovel to my mind, uprooting one message after another, and it was painful. How could I have been wrong? Of course I knew what was healthy to eat! Those messages were so engrained in my psyche that to sever them as skillfully as he did loosed me from gravity. I had to put the book down often.

                        I easily fell prey to the mass delusion of calorie restriction and hard exercise as the road to weight loss. There was no challenge to this misconception in my world, unlike the one presented to me by school in the matters of race and worth. When the Atkins diet was popular, it conflicted with all of the messages that I had received about healthy eating. Those messages came from respected sources and there were legions; Atkins was a lone nut-job wanting to make money off an idea as ridiculous as the Grapefruit Diet. Scientists made fun of it. The media made fun of it. So Gay Panda made fun of it. The same thing happened with the Caveman diet. Scientists made fun of it. The media made fun of it. So Gay Panda made fun of it. I treated the very few proponents with the same dismissal I gave Father Panda.

                        There is strength in numbers. People who disagreed vehemently about race outnumbered my father, forcing me to think critically about his message; the side of calorie restriction and hard exercise vastly outnumbers primal, and I dismissed the minority of loons. Even the failing results of my own body did not convince me for many years to question that the messages of the majority were wrong. The problem was myself, not the information I swallowed with 6-11 daily servings of healthy whole grains. 99% of my messages were the same old treadmill of fewer calories, more exercise. And like a lemming, I followed after them, even as the number on the scale undercut the message.
                        JOIN THE PANDA SHOW!!! Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS and PANDALOONERY!

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                        • PART THREE: But just recently, I am noticing a small change. Write an article for Salon bashing oneself for cooking fatty foods at a restaurant and contributing to Americaís weight problem, and I find within the 40 comments a fascinating spread of reactions. There are the expected anti-butter responses at first, and then someone writes in to say that it isnít butter that makes people fat. People compliment themselves for restricting calories or being vegan, bemoan those who stupidly eat bacon when they have heart conditions, and then someone else pops in to say eat meat, drink whole milk, and ditch the soy.

                          Within this comment thread, itís not 99%-1%. Not even close. The balance is shifting, still heavily on conventional, but no longer a nearly homozygous response. Some primal-sounding people leave very detailed information about what your body does with the nutrients put into it, instead of the mindless Ďmove more/eat lessí reiterations of the conventional supporters. I have been reading diet and nutrition articles for years, but it is now that I see such dissent in the comment threads.

                          The standard American diet message is failing. Slowly, one person at a time, but it is failing. We see its failure in our own sick, fat bodies. Voice after voice appears in the online wilderness, to join into a greater chorus that slaps the cheeks of beliefs about food we have held since we were young. I didnít need 99% of those voices to shout about Taubes and MDA and primal before I listened. I needed far fewer than that. But I still needed more than one lone voice to pique my interest.

                          It is terrible to think that had I grown up in a different time and place, with only one voice speaking out in disagreement around me, I would have blindly accepted my fatherís ideology. But with my school, I knew that we were just kids, some of us light and some of us dark, and all of us waiting desperately for the bell to ring. Strength in numbers worked to my advantage in the matter of race. My school, not by words but by practice, taught that character has nothing to do with skin color.

                          But strength in numbers worked against me in the matter of nutrition. If twenty people tell you today that you look tired, and one says that you look energetic, which are you likely to believe? Iíd go home and get in bed. But if fifteen say tired and six say energetic, youíll throw up your hands and take a look in the mirror for yourself. A message fails by the strength of its opposition. David did not beat Goliath by becoming equal in size; he beat Goliath by a well-placed zinger.

                          Last week I forwarded MDA to a curious friend who wanted to know what zinger has led to my weight loss. Who knows if she will take it seriously? She probably wonít (and Valhalla help me if she reads the journals; my secret will be out). But maybe you also forwarded MDA or Taubes or Robb Wolf to someone who is ready to hear it, and then this chorus will gain another singer. And slowly, slowly, a new message will get out, and the old one will fade away.
                          JOIN THE PANDA SHOW!!! Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS and PANDALOONERY!

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                          • UPDATE: (in explanation of * and **)

                            * Strangely, Mean Kitty was the stuffed representation of the very nice mother cat character Duchess from the Disney movie The Aristocats. I have no idea why she was the villain in my stuffed animal kingdom, but I’m sure Freud would have a field day with it. In case you are curious about the character of Cancer Sheep, he turned out to be nice but dim, and failed math three years in a row.

                            ** I remember only two events of note: one in which we all agreed that Asian kids were good in math, and a bizarre incident in which I was not invited to the birthday party of an Indian child in my class because his parents thought I was Swedish. They invited every other child of Caucasian descent in my grade. Gossip the next Monday was that the party was a blast with fantastic goody bags, and I was crushed. I’m also not Swedish, as far as I know.

                            But I do feel that I need to qualify this part of the post. While one panda parent was adopted and I do not know all of my origins, I look white. I do not remember a single slur being cast at my school, or a fight based on racial tension, but discrimination can be quite nuanced. A darker classmate of mine may have had a very different experience than the halcyon one I describe. Just because pale Young Gay Panda didn’t recognize it doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen.
                            JOIN THE PANDA SHOW!!! Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS and PANDALOONERY!

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                            • For no apparent reason, my weight finally went down today. I have been on a pause since late September. Nothing changed in my diet to cause it, and nothing changed in my diet to break through it. This morning I hit a new low of 187.2.

                              For those of you like Gay Panda, who repeatedly look over their daily foodstuffs trying to discern which one is causing an irritating pause, sometimes the answer is nothing at all. I did the exact same thing, for almost the same length of time, through most of August. My body decided it loved 195 and refused to budge until the end of the month, and then suddenly I crashed through it. I lost slowly through much of September before hitting my next pause as my body decided that no, it really, really loved bouncing around 188-190.

                              The hardest lesson for me in weight loss is waiting it out.
                              JOIN THE PANDA SHOW!!! Primal With A Side Of FABULOUS and PANDALOONERY!

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                              • Congratulations on breaking the plateau, Panda! For the record, I'm glad you took after your school and not your father in this instance.
                                There are two wolves fighting within a man's heart, one is Love, the other is Hate. The one that wins is the one you feed.

                                My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we'll change the world. - Jack Layton

                                The Primal Adventures of Griffin - Huzzah!

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