I copied Jessica and tracked my eating habits over the past week.  I usually go back and forth between a vegan diet and a diet with little meat/dairy/eggs, and right now I’m fully vegan.  I’ll provide a list of links to the cookbooks/web sites for the dishes I’ve starred at the bottom of this post.  Any other dishes I’ve developed on my own and I’ll gladly share the recipes. I calculated my recommended daily caloric intake at the same site as Jessica did, for continuity.  It’s 1,881 calories per day.  The calorie counts are estimates with the help of The Daily Plate.

Friday:

7:30 am

Carrot-daikon tea (40)*

Mochi with agave nectar (236)

11:30 am

Kashi TLC strawberry cereal bar (110)

1:30 pm

Chickpea-quinoa pilaf (445)*

1/4 avocado with sea salt and lemon juice (73)

2:00 – 2:45 pm

Walk (-210)

“Hybrid” – lemonade/iced tea from Cer Te (50)

7:00 pm

Half-sour pickles (10)

Miso soup with collard greens, onion, rice noodles, and silken tofu (220)

Jason’s homemade bread with Earth Balance (222)

11:00 pm

Magic Hat #9 (146)

Vegan Peanut Butter Pie (327)*

1843-210=1633

Saturday:

9:30 am

Vegan French toast (222)

Black tea (0)

11:30 am

Nori burrito with daikon and zucchini fried rice (251)

1:00 – 2:30

Walk (-419)

Iced coffee from Irving Farm (0)

4:30 pm

Half-sour pickles (10)

Berry hemp protein smoothie (349)

5:00-6:00

Walk (-279)

8:00 pm

Vegan pecan cookie from Whole Foods (120)

10:30 pm

3 slices homemade vegan pizza (771)

Glass of red wine (125)

1848-698=1150

Sunday:

8:30 am

Slice of homemade vegan pizza (257)

1/4 cantaloupe (50)

Black tea (0)

12:00 pm

Taco salad with romaine, onions, black beans, brown rice, green salsa, avocado, and Daiya “cheese” (408)

1/3 slice Vegan Peanut Butter Pie (108)*

3:00 pm

Black bubble tea with soy milk from Tea Magic (245)

Walk (-419)

8:00 pm

Veggie California reuben (425)

Steamed baby bok choy and daikon with umeboshi vinegar (18)

10:30 pm

Vegan cinnamon oat bran muffin (180)

1691-419=1272

Monday:

8:00 am

Vegan cinnamon oat bran muffin (180)

Berry hemp protein smoothie (261)

3:00 pm

Miso soup with collard greens, onion, rice noodles, silken tofu, and homemade radish pickles (230)

1/4 cantaloupe (50)

7:00 pm

2 vegan cinnamon oat bran muffins (360)

Black beans and tofu on steamed baby bok choy with Earth Balance “butter” (290)

7:30-9:30

Walk (-559)

1371-559=812

Tuesday:

7:30 am

Vegan cinnamon oat bran muffin (180)

Black tea (0)

11:00 am

Kashi TLC strawberry cereal bar (110)

Iced coffee with soy milk from Le Pain Quotidien (60)

3:00 pm

Adzuki bean and butternut squash stew (204)*

Tofu (100)

Sunflower seeds (190)

3:30-4:30

Walk (-279)

8:30 pm

2/3 falafel platter from some random place in Hell’s Kitchen (416)

2 glasses red wine (250)

1/2 Nana’s cookie (210)

1720-279=1441

Wednesday:

7:30 am

Bagel with almond butter and strawberry preserves (353)

11:00 am

Kashi TLC strawberry cereal bar (110)

Green tea (0)

3:00 pm

Tortilla with tofu (230)

Vegan coleslaw (120)

7:00 pm

Kashi TLC strawberry cereal bar (110)

9:00 pm

Burrito with rice, beans, guacamole, onions, and green salsa (478)

Salad with sunflower seeds (150)

Slice of Jason’s homemade bread (115)

Modelo Negra (165)

1831

Thursday:

8:30-9:00

Walk (-140)

9:00 am

Steel cut oats with maple syrup and walnuts from Whole Foods (260)

Strawberries and blueberries (119)

1:30 pm

Salad with kale, romaine, spinach, beets, carrots, red pepper, broccoli, and tofu (389)

2:00-3:00 pm

Walk (-279)

5:00 pm

Bagel with almond butter and strawberry preserves (353)

8:00 pm

Baked potato with Earth Balance “butter” and peas (383)

Brown rice (109)

9:00 pm

Peanut butter oat cookie (150)*

1763-419=1344

*Carrot-daikon tea, vegan peanut butter pie, and adzuki bean and butternut squash stew recipes from The Kind Diet

*Chickpea-quinoa pilaf recipe from Veganomicon

*Peanut butter oat cookie recipe modified from Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook

Observations:

1. I eat a lot of baked goods, but that’s all right because I’m really good at making them.

2. The Daily Plate probably overestimates calorie counts for exercise, but I only tracked the walking I did deliberately.  New Yorkers are forced to walk a lot.  Just going to and from the subway tacks on an extra 15 minutes each way usually, and I ride the subway at least two times per day.  Regardless, I could probably get more exercise.  I just find walking to be most enjoyable, and that takes time.

3. I absolutely hate counting calories and am so glad to be done with this.  I went down a couple of pounds, but it was well within my window of fluctuation.  Whatever.  I sure can eat a lot, but I don’t really care about calories while following a vegan diet because excess calories from plant-based foods (the unprocessed variety) are generally expelled as body heat rather than stored like excess calories from animal-based foods.  Bet you didn’t know that.

4. Eating things like mochi, umeboshi plums, daikon, and adzuki beans makes me sound pretentious.

First, I apologize for not posting more often, too.  Jason has done a great job of posting interesting and thought-provoking pieces and while I’ve had time to write lately, I’ve been too distracted to really sit down and write something meaningful.  I’ve actually been working on a post this week (look for it tomorrow!), but I wanted to check in today and write about a few things I’ve been thinking about lately.

Check this out.  I’ll post my photo on here, and you all should too.  These types of projects make me want to take pictures as often as I did in high school and college.  I love photography because it can be the most honest form expression for the artist.  Photographers are often disconnected from their work by art critics in a way that painters would never be, when a photographer’s story could be just as responsible for the art he/she produces as a painter’s is.

Here’s the education-related and (in my opinion) inflammatory part of my entry today:  my school district is getting rid of foreign language classes at the middle school level next year because students will not be able to take foreign language classes until their junior year in high school.  This makes me angry because: 1. The district is not trying to fix what I view to be the problem, which is that its students can take a maximum of two years of a foreign language in high school.  My seventh and eighth graders who have read a NOVEL in Spanish this year and are currently writing 150 word essays in Spanish will not have a chance to use the skills they have gained for at least two years. 2. This decision has caused the veteran Spanish teacher at the other middle school in my district to quit because she felt insulted that she would have to get another certification in order to maintain her employment.  3. Foreign languages are clearly not valued as much as I believe they should be.  Not only do they aid students in understanding and appreciating cultures and ideas that they otherwise could show intolerance for, but in my experience can help with English skills as well.  Anything that reinforces students’ language skills is important, as most of my students are between one and five years behind in reading. Arg. There’s not a lot I can do about the situation that I’m not already doing, like telling my students and their parents to complain to the school board.  I hope, if anything, my students have gained an appreciation for a good education and foreign languages and that they use that appreciation to take control of their lives as students.  We’ll see.

I have to get to class, but know that I’m excited to read and write more on Blah Blah Riot!  In honor of me going to Kalamazoo this weekend, your homework assignment is to post your top 3 favorite things about Kalamazoo and Southwest Michigan as a comment on this entry.  Go!

When Jason and I moved to New York and began to build our nest there were two large electronics we decided we could live without: the microwave and the television.  I’m surprised by how little I miss the microwave and its generally uneven quick cooking, but I’m even more surprised by how much I actually do miss television.  I grew up in an MTV-free, “Simpsons”-banning, documentary-loving household, and I never really watched TV in college unless it was blaring in the weight room or involved in a social activity.  Now that I have a Netflix subscription, however, I find myself frequently drawn toward the popular TV series I managed to avoid over the past few years.

“30 rock,” “Weeds,” “Flight of the Conchords”… Usually I start at the beginning of a series and work my way through all of the DVDs.  Most recently, I’ve become obsessed with “Mad Men.”

“Mad Men” has been around for 3 seasons already, so everyone except me in the entire U.S. has probably been familiar with the concept for a while now.  I even remember my grandmother mentioning something about the show’s styling at our family reunion this past summer.  Needless to say, it’s about advertising and the men on Madison Avenue in the 1960s.  And it’s fantastic.

The show has received a lot of praise for its historical accuracy, which means all the smoking and drinking and misogyny actually happened.  Executives had affairs with secretaries, while their wives were smoking and drinking and pregnant, and their children were climbing around the back seat of the car completely unrestrained.  The more impressive aspect of the show to me, however, is how its cultural critique resonates in society today.

“Mad Men” doesn’t idealize the 1960s, but it promotes a certain flawed–yet undeniably attractive–glamor.  It inexplicably causes me to want to wear pearls, start chain-smoking, and bring a bottle of scotch to work.  Obviously I’m not the only one who feels this way.

Recently the show’s image has become a brand within itself.  Vintage clothing stores in New York can thank “Mad Men” along with the “green is the new black” trend for the rise in demand and consequent ability to charge ridiculous prices for wool-trimmed jackets and laced slips.  There’s luxury in the classic and well-preserved.

Modern clothing production has been influenced as well.  Brooks Brothers and Banana Republic both promoted lines of clothing influenced by the show’s styling.  And despite the sad state of the economy, young professionals are finding ways to keep up with, or rather fall back into, the trend.  Cuff links, wing-tips, A-line skirts.  In New York, it’s not uncommon for fresh-out-of-college new hires to dress better, and more classically, than their superiors.

Now, even if you can’t afford to dress like a “Mad Man,” you can at least own the miniature version of one.  Mattel just revealed their four collectible “Mad Men” Barbies, and just in case anyone was thinking of letting their children play with them, the New York Times assures there will be no cocktails or cigarettes included.

The strange loop of meta-advertising is one thing, but the most disappointing aspect of the dolls is the shape of one in particular.  The doll modeled after secretary Joan Holloway (pictured above at left), played by the stunningly beautiful, curvy, red-headed actress Christina Hendricks, is represented in traditional Barbie form with traditional Barbie measurements.  Any positive body image message AMC succeeded in spreading is lost.

Nevertheless, the influence of “Mad Men,” by nature of the show’s premise, is necessarily as self-aware as it is commercial.  As a consumer it’s oddly refreshing to be reminded that there are still people, and still likely more men than women, who are trying to convince me how to spend my money.  I don’t think I’ll let them sway me into buying a TV any time soon.

Especially with an economy in a downward spiral, it’s easy to listen to that hyper-critical inner-voice constantly striving for the house in the Hamptons, or house-boat in the Caribbean (whatever tickles your fancy) and consequently pointing out every way that you’re not on that track.

Pardon the hippie-inspired-love-yourself text that follows, but what really is success?

If I woke up one morning in a California King-size bed overlooking an orchard of apple trees with a hunk-of-a-man next to me holding out a fresh mocha, I’d be pleased. Fortunately, pleasure and success aren’t synonymous. I say fortunately because the likelihood of my fantasy coming true is ridiculously low. However, the likelihood I live a life of success–real, honest, chest-bump-worthy success–totally is.

An email circulated around the office about an intra-mural soccer team forming. I’ve played soccer once with a bunch of children who thought I was terrible, but I had a good time, so I signed up. I let my teammates know I had no formal knowledge of soccer, but was willing to learn and play and have fun. What came as a result was all at once humiliating, funny, and illuminating.

But, really, it was mostly terribly humiliating.

My teammates, who turned out to be gifted at soccer, tolerated my ignorance well, answering questions like ”Wait, what part of my foot do I use to kick the ball?” They were gracious, but it can only go so far.

After I fouled (I hope this terminology is used across the board) then tried to take the ball from the other team when they got their penalty kick (again, I’m just trying to use any sports lingo I can at this point),  I was asked to sub-out.
So I sat on the sidelines, gingerly took off my shin guards (that I wore with short socks) and held in tears that were probably left over from  a middle school gym class softball game.

At half-time (?) I stayed away from their bonding circle where they congratulated each other on their kicks or shots or bonks or whatever the hell soccer players say to each other in times of happiness. My recent confidence in myself as a person had cracked, and all of the insecurities I’d been ignoring the past few weeks started leaking through. I held it in until the end of the game, found shelter, and then let it all gush out.

I fail at everything, after all, that voice told me. I haven’t received any funding for work, I do nothing all day, I haven’t had a relationship since high school, I have no friends, I don’t look good in the dress I wore Monday, I suck at all sports, and I’m fat. Oh and ugly. Yeah, and my personality sucks, too.

So, now, let’s review: if I dominate on the soccer field (a game that until a few weeks ago, I really didn’t give two shits about) I’m a success. When did this get added to my personal list of success? And why is failing at an organized sport I’ve never played a cause for self-doubt?

My success isn’t passing a test, it isn’t making enough money to retire at 35, it isn’t buying out Best Buy, and it sure as hell isn’t kicking a damn ball into a net. My success is my success. I don’t have to explain it, I don’t have to even name it right now. All I have to do is know the difference between feeling  fulfilled and feeling like I should feel fulfilled and then love those moments of true fulfillment.

Yes, I SUCK at soccer! I was TERRIBLE! SHAMEFUL! People should laugh at how awkward I was on the field. They should ask me to sub out. Goodness help me, I should be a perpetual bench-warmer.

Fortunately, failing at soccer isn’t failing at life until I’ve signed a contract to win soccer games.

Why or why not?  Post to follow.

I’m not sure why I like starting off each year setting myself up for failure, but I always make a long list of resolutions that I PROMISE myself I’ll keep until I start making the next list.  I guess I figure that even if I keep one or all of these resolutions for even one day, I’ll be slightly better off than I was the year before.  Right?  So, here are my pretty standard, already broken promises for 2010:

1. Eat healthier, cut down on carbs, and slowly reintroduce meat into my diet.

2. Save more and keep better track of my expenses.

3. Make more of an effort to keep up with current events and get back to journaling each day.

4. Communicate with friends and family members I’ve lost touch with.

5. Focus on the positive in my job and personal life.

What are your resolutions?  Or, why did you not make resolutions this year (or any year)?  And, what should we name this decade (besides “the tensies,” because that’s just silly)?

To try and define identity or give an accurate representation of self is almost impossible. Identity is everything, it’s the process of understanding someone else, and it’s ever-changing. I’m in some ways a completely different person from who I was yesterday. That’s Buddhism 101: be constantly changing by all of your experiences.
Because of the ambiguity, shortcuts are used constantly in self promotion. Generalized words for people: optimist, Christian, realist, idealist; -er words: surfer, writer, photographer; ethnicities; religions; skin color. As if being part of one of these groups helps someone else understand who and what you are.

We were treading a narrow trail on the edge of a cliff in the mountains of Northern Thailand, and having experienced slipping on hikes earlier, I decided to calm myself by having an idle conversation with my professor. He told me about where he had lived before, things he liked to do, where he’d worked, and from all of this, what peaked my interest was his affinity for surfing.
“Oh!” I chanced to take my eyes from the path for a second to look behind me, thus securing our connection and understanding with the phrase: “You’re a surfer!”
He paused, and I felt the vibes of a cringe coming from behind me. “I don’t like to describe myself in words that end in –er, but yes, I like to surf.”
Confusion set in. Why wouldn’t he want to be known as a surfer? My mind raced: surfers are hot and tan and blonde and super-chill, and I think they like pizza. Who wouldn’t want to be that?

My musings answered my question, but I didn’t realize it until years later. Words conjure up images and perceptions, different to each of us, yet we still use these common labels to feel part of something bigger. I don’t remember where I heard or saw this, but there was a study where people were asked which nonsensical words they preferred. The hitch was these words were paired with cleverly picked pronouns, some like “we” and “us” giving the vibe of being included, and the others of being excluded and alone like “they” and “them.” Overwhelmingly, people picked the words that were paired with the inclusive words.

What happens when these labels–that really are only a middle-schoolian (yes, I’m going to go ahead and coin that phrase myself) way of saying “Yes, I belong”–start causing conflicts? What if I say I’m a writer, but my fifth grade teacher disagrees? What does it mean if I want to have a degree in English writing, but don’t want to be a teacher?
I’ll tell you: confusion, anger, and sometimes hatred, as in the case of Lou Jing, a biracial contestant on China’s version of American Idol experienced:  http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/11/14/AR2009111401147.html

So, I ask you, at the end of the day, do these words really describe you? What kind of comfort are they really giving you? What is so scary about not fitting in to a larger, more understood (by stereotypes) community?

I was sort of in a bad mood today, but then I discovered a blog that made me almost pee my cubicle.