They have a word for that?!?

Yes, they do. And yes, I am.

You're welcome.

Variations on Eating Clean, Part 1 -- Eat Skinny

Now that my winter weight is (slowly but surely) coming off, I've had to find a new way to recommit myself to eating clean from the inside out  -- because somehow, flat out eliminating stuff was so harsh that I have always had a sinking feeling that the extreme tough love approach on my stomach will backfire on me in the worst way imaginable.  The thing is, it hasn't. Outside of the odd moment of weakness here and there, most of the bad things on my list -- like fast food, sodas, junk food, pizza, rice, potatoes, bread and corn, for example -- are gone, anyway.  When I eat badly, I don't feel good. Nothing makes me want to jump back on the wagon faster than falling off of it.

If you think about it, this is the way your grandparents ate. (More on that later.)

I do miss sitting around at home, watching movies and munching on hot popcorn that's slathered with real butter and salt (three things that are an absolute no-no in the eat clean program) -- but corn bloats out and distends my torso horribly and it takes several days for it to go away.  I don't know when that kicked into overdrive. Loved the stuff as a kid. Lived on it in college. Eating it now is unthinkable -- unless I want to walk around looking like I'm 3 months pregnant.

Actually, touring Europe with Blood really caved it all in for me. Lots of cheeses, fresh bread, cured meats and NO exercise for weeks on end. My cholesterol went through the roof. What a mess. I had to fast for a few days to regain my equilibrium and get everything back on track.

When I tripped up over this list created by Oprah's guru, I stopped beating myself up, mostly because I've already made most of this a habit. I don't usually eat breakfast until after 12pm. I keep a Britta bottle in my purse. I usually cook at home.  That sleep thing is tricky, though. Forget that splurge meal. I can't handle it.

Whatever I'm not doing will get dealt with when I'm incapable of chewing anything after my next round of oral surgery that happens in the next week or two. (Yikes.)

Oh, and by the way: Rule 18 is super hard -- but I have to admit, I can see and feel a difference when I wake up in the morning. And it does wonders for my acid reflux.

The Next Gig: Tribute Night - George Jones, 5/23

...and as always, there's NEVER a cover charge at Rodeo Bar. This will be a hoot. See you there!

Happy birthday, Malcolm X

“Well, I am one who doesn’t believe in deluding myself. I’m not going to sit at your table and watch you eat, with nothing on my plate, and call myself a diner. Sitting at the table doesn’t make you a diner, unless you eat some of what’s on that plate. Being here in America doesn’t make you an American. Being born here in America doesn’t make you an American. Why, if birth made you American, you wouldn’t need any legislation; you wouldn’t need any amendments to the Constitution; you wouldn’t be faced with civil-rights filibustering in Washington, D.C., right now. They don’t have to pass civil-rights legislation to make a Polack an American. No, I’m not an American. I’m one of the 22 million black people who are the victims of Americanism. One of the 22 million black people who are the victims of democracy, nothing but disguised hypocrisy. So, I’m not standing here speaking to you as an American, or a patriot, or a flag-saluter, or a flag-waver — no, not I. I’m speaking as a victim of this American system. And I see America through the eyes of the victim. I don’t see any American dream; I see an American nightmare.”

                                                                      — Malcolm X, The Ballot or the Bullet, 1964

Its breathtaking, to think of where we could be as a people and as a nation, if our black leaders who came to prominence during the civil rights movement hadn't been slaughtered, in many instances at the behest of the federal government.  This country might have lived up to its true promise, and the ideals we like to believe that we embody -- things like "freedom and justice for all" -- wouldn't be handy catchphrases and branding favorites.  Anyone who attempts to console themselves by saying those things repeatedly isn't somehow making any of it true -- and it doesn't minimize guilt or entitlement.

Ultimately, the brochure doesn't match the destination hotspot. There isn't freedom and justice for all. There isn't equality for everyone. We aren't a democracy. (Not really.) And no one seems particularly interested in addressing any of this. Probably because everyone has been lulled into a functional stupor by reality tv, fast food and middle class poverty. (What's the first sign of malnutrition? Apathy. No wonder they don't want us to have vitamins...) If people were taught to think critically in schools, if we ate nothing but clean food and were given a living wage, this would be a completely different country.

There, I said it.

For your listening pleasure, here is Malcolm X's seminal speech The Ballot or the Bullet in its entirety. Anyone who considers themselves to be an American should listen to this very carefully. 

pithy thought of the day

writing and rewriting and then some

surprise! i'm writing erotica -- under an assumed name, of course. i don't know what that name is yet but i've found a pseudonym generator, so i'm well on my way to something interesting. perferrably a guy's name.

someone dared me to do it and i figured, why not.  it's a pretty popular genre -- and when i say popular, i mean pert near everyone is doing it. i've heard from way too many writers who reignited their careers by taking up a pseudonym and writing erotica.  i haven't seen very much that explores any of it from a black female perspective, though. maybe i can change that.

strangely, it's the kind of thing that feels easy to churn out of me, now that there's relative calm in my life.

i'm working on rewrites on this libretto and i'm working on lyrics for a new song cycle and i'm working on submissions for the bmi musical theater workshop and i'm working on a dance performance idea. somewhere in there when my brain starts to glaze over, i'll pull out this erotica and reread it and think, hey this is interesting and then i write a page or two and put it aside. and then i'll go back to what i was doing. if i keep this up, i should have something interesting by the end of the summer. not a short story. probably a novella. a novel seems too cumbersome, too heavy, too much.
 
aside from all this writing, there's that soulful country/rock album i'd like to finish as a birthday present to myself.

apparently, this is a real incubatory moment for me.  this fall should be explosive.

when it's time to get out of the house and spend the day someplace else, the balcony lounge at the metropolitan museum of art is idyllic.  they have wifi, they serve high tea (amongst other things) and they have books and periodicals to get lost in. here's the kicker: not anyone can get into this lounge and it's usually empty on weekends, so i'm left alone.

as if all of that weren't enough, it's adjacent to the asian wing, so when my mind goes completely blank, i can walk to the next room and sit in front of a bodhisattva and be completely and utterly overwhelmed. what more could a nerdy blackgrrl ask for, really.


(i instagrammed this one a few weeks ago. it's ginormous.)

 i can't really think about budhisattva and not have this steely dan song swing through my head. (great album...)

pithy thought of the day