7 Days: Could’ve Been Goa

Life just never seems to slow down…

It’s officially the last week of my 20′s.  Wow.  You know, I think I’m ready.  Well, you have to be.  But it’s OK.  Really.  It’s getting a bit easier to have a good time.  Really.

Today — I started out with another wine tasting — this time at a big theatre in Tel Aviv for an event, an awards ceremony for PR professionals, of all things (my former profession, one of them, stateside). I served 400 people the Gamla Sangiovese 2006.  A very decent cup a joy.

Then I joined friends for an impromptu late-weekend-breakfast at a city center bistro.

Then I went home for the flash of an eye…before going to a friend of a friend’s beachside birthday party…which turned out to be more like…hanging out with some way-too-mellow beach bums, doing close to nothing.  Ya.  But I warmed to the idea.  Finally.  Because it was so incredibly beautiful.  Just before sunset.  On what for Israel is an exceptionally empty beach.  It could have been Goa.  Seriously.  Wide expansive beach with small dunes.  Tents and tarps set up here and there with straw mats and mattresses and tables laden with comfort food and bottles of beer and arak.  I didn’t have a swim suit (silly me wore a dress and jewelry thinking it’s a Friday night birthday party…), but I was convinced by the crowd and borrowed a spare pair of swimming bottoms from the bday girl, and I went in my bra… And the water was warm and calm and soothing… And absolutely NO jellyfish, usually a complete bummer for Israeli beach summers which makes it close to impossible to go into the water.  It was liberating.  I have always wanted to go swimming and prancing about in my underwear.  It’s really different than with a bathing suit.  Something about it not supposed to be seen usually.  And I felt pretty.  Really pretty.

Age is pretty irrelevent.  Life goes on.  Always goes on.  And despite it not being “productive” I had a pretty full and pleasant day.  And I discovered  a pocket of Israel that looks just like Goa.  Where you can relax.  And simply be.

Something to chew on.   As we’re looking at “one week…”  A week of food for folks all over the world.

8 Days: Infinity on end

Funny how the symbol for infinity is an eight turned on its side.  Or maybe I should ask why an eight is an infinity symbol standing on end.   In any case, it’s almost a week until my 30th, and it might as well be an eternity away for how much a have to accomplish  by that date…

Being an avid book lover and having to move apartments to a fourth floor walkup without any cash or much help is a nightmare.  Having to do this in the middle of summer in Tel Aviv with a twenty year-old borrowed car (without AC) on its very last leg made this hell on earth.

But I survived.  Every muscle shaking.  So wet from sweat, it was like I’d jumped in the sea with all my clothes on.

And here I sit.  In the gorgeous new place.  No idea how I will be paying for it.  Not at all unpacked.  And with a couple more loads of stuff to bring over from my old place.

I did have a short interview today.  For what could be the answer to my prayers.  A work from home job that could pay exceptionally well to basically be a long-distance secretary. But the chances are low, and the interview process long.  Which means the resumes still keep going out.

And I’m going to turn in.  I can actually get about 8 hours sleep tonight…a far cry from the 3-4 hours I’ve been getting because of the move.  Tomorrow is another wine tasting.  My feet hurt.  And a word to the wise:

NEVER mix Moscato with Arak.

It’s a nasty combination.

9 Days: Naked

We’re into single digits here…

I took a good look at myself naked today in a large wall-sized full length mirror, standing perhaps ten or more feet back.  And you know what?  I liked what I saw.  Sure there were flaws.  Stretch marks.  Thunder thighs.  But overall, it was refreshing.  Even invigorating.  It was exciting to see myself from so far away, and so completely.  Usually when we look, if we even dare to look, it’s rather close up…I mean, who owns such a large full length in perhaps their largest room, so they can have the most far-off perspective?  And here I was.  Nowhere near perfect.  But really beautiful.  Someone, who if I didn’t know it was me, that I would consider quite attractive.

Being so close to the big 3-0, it was surprising how little if anything this had to do with age.  I’m finally OK with my body.  Sure, I know I can and should improve it.  But I don’t give a flying F- about criticizing my body so much so that I hate myself.  Looking at this body, almost as if it were someone else’s, I thought, “wouldn’t it be wonderful to give this body the gift of some yoga once in a while…” I giggle just thinking about it.  It’s such a ticklish fanciful thing to be able to walk around in the nude and be really really OK with that.  More than OK.  To enjoy it.  To actually start to understand why someone might even want to go to a nudist retreat.  It’s a real pleasure to like living in your body.  Who knows, it might even lead to positive sexual experiences.  Which is another huge can of worms in and of itself.  And I’m not sure I want to go there now.

I’ll end by saying this – I was just kissed.  Kissed by a man I can imagine making love to but know I probably shouldn’t.  Kissed by a man I am somewhat attracted to but am also extremely perplexed by.  Kissed by a man who may be able to turn me off as much as he turns me on.  Weird, I know.  It was a perplexing “is this a date or not” kind of evening.  This man propositioned me without saying a word.  Thought he was taking me home, thanked him, and he said, “oh, I was taking you to my home…”  But a kiss is worth more than a thousand words.  I was looking forward to it, despite not knowing whether to be shocked or tittilated by his more than somewhat forward (or rude) behavior.  And this kiss…was wet!!!!  Sloppy, wet, and set off absolutely no sparks.  Not even a mild fizzle. So wet, it’s been over a half hour and I can still smell that “other person’s saliva” smell on my face!  I got my answer, wouldn’t you say?

10 Days: Giving myself a break…

…is much harder than it seems.

I’m exhausted.  Didn’t edit today.  I did, however, apply to six jobs.  Six jobs I will probably not hear back from because as I become more and more aware of, it’s all about who you know in Israel, not how qualified you are, because I am overqualified for everything I’ve submitted to and I’m tired of it.  And that is exhausting.  Add to this that I started out the day pretty damned exhausted…and will continue to be for the next few days…I’m a bit out of it and emotional.  See, I get to go back home (!!!) to my new apartment tomorrow morning.  BUT I have to be there at 6:20 am to pick up the keys from the lady evacuating the place who’s headed to the airport.  Oh well.  Figuring out how to actually move all of my possessions and two cats to a fourth floor walk up in the middle of July heat without a car is going to be fun.  C’est la vie.  Gotta figure out how to make lemonade, folks.

So…giving myself a break this week as my therapist suggested?  Ya, great idea.  But not so easy.  I’m trying, though, I’m trying.  I’m eating well (scrummy hummus and pita and veg), I’m thinking about a glass of Scotch (a treat and a tasty one at that), and watching some sci fi. Eureka is back on…a show I adore but I don’t actually think is very good…and I haven’t the tiniest inkling why the episodes started back up in July after months in the dark…

Friends on facebook were very kind to me in their response to my mini status-rant: “headache. sick of applying to jobs. want to sleep. and finally move into my apartment. which will only happen at 6:25 am tomorrow. pooh. perhaps a glass of scotch will make the situation seem more humorous.” And suggested I read this wonderful article about the health benefits of Bourbon and aspirin intake.

And I highly recommend watching this interesting video clip.  Can’t understand most of it, but that’s completely OK.

And the real highlight of my day has been perusing McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, a literary website unlike any other, and of which I am extremely fond.  Go on, give yourself a thrill –  read some juicy tidbits and chuckle for a while.  It’s such a tonic.

Signing off…giving myself as much of a break as I’m able.

15 Days: Requiem

Tonight La Scala’s full orchestra, chorus, soloists, and conductor performed Verdi’s Requiem in Tel Aviv’s main park. The masses turned out in droves. Daniel Barenboim, il maestro, is our hometown boy. And it was a glorious performance. This was no Ravinia or Tanglewood or Millennium Park experience. It was packed, to the teeth, and the crowd was being sold hot dogs and pizzas. Like a rock concert or better yet, a baseball game. And bigger than when Paul McCartney was in town. Well, this was free, so that might have had something to do with it. Of course, the Israeli audience was rude right and left until the very second it began, spoke over the mayor’s excellent speech, shouted for the people in the front and the latecomers to “sit the f- down and shut up already,” and botched the applause for the soloists. But for the most part, the crowd was hushed and calm for the show. Midway through a steady stream of older people and folks with kids and the run of the mill ignoramuses trickled out — but it was so packed, it was hard, for them to find a hint of a trail leading toward an exit and for us trying to watch and listen. At one point I had to laugh. The chorus and soloists were pummeling out a very intense, “lead us out from death and into eternal life,” and right before me, silhouetted because of the glorious light from the stage, was a decrepit elderly woman being supported on both sides, being led out very very slowly, with a gaggle of frustrated stragglers behind her. It was very clear that a few people around me were thinking the same thought because that lyric did not change for a long time, and here was this poor creature, looking like she was on death’s door…and to add insult to injury, the conga line leaving party following her really looked something like the hand-holding plague-ridden group at the end of Bergman’s Seventh Seal. No sooner was the concert over, Tel Aviv of course had to blow it, big time. We barely recognized the piece was over because we messed up and applauded at the wrong points every other time (typical “boy who cried wolf” classical music mishap), and then, probably because of a lack of momentum coupled with people elbowing their way out desperately, we could barely pull off two (and an attempt at a 3rd) curtain call for the soloists. Then, oh then, and I can’t help but cringe…a fireworks display explodes at the two ends of the stage, a big display, being accompanied by some way-cheesy 1970′s song celebrating Tel Aviv…I mean, the orchestra was starting to exit the stage, and a lot of people looked startled. We just heard Verdi for the love of Pete! Less than a minute before! Yup. Typical. The concert was fantastic, though. I was very impressed with the soloists. I haven’t heard quality like that in a very long time. Especially liked the alto. And the moments I thought she was going to split the front of her dress. Oh me. I must be turning into a true Tel Avivian. As if.

16 Days: To Care or Not To Care

My birthday is fast approaching, and I only now, just now, like 5 minutes ago sent out an invitation online to my party. What am I thinking? I wanted paper invitations, a carefully planned event, something elegant, something I could really enjoy because it was so well planned, it had to go right. Right? Well, a bit over two weeks should still be enough to have a nice party. But still.

I still don’t know whether to care or not to care. It’s silly. It’s a stupid non-issue here. Of course I care…and of course, I don’t. Duh…

Like CARING so much it hurts…

So…there are moments during my day when it’s like, “holy shit, I’m going to be thirty…at my age my mother was 8 months pregnant with me…I have no life, no love life, no career, no routine, no schedule, I’m scared, I’m lost…shit, shit, shit…I’m going to be this 30 year old loser and nobody will come to my party!”

Like NOT CARING at all…(or much)

Hey, it’s another day on the calendar.  You will be the same exact person.  Your goals are the same.  If anything, let it motivate you.  Try harder.  If you’re feeling self-conscious, you don’t have to tell anyone your age.  Thank God for your common sense with SPF face creams daily from age 19 and thank God for Israelis (and much of the rest of the world) NOT being smart and allowing themselves to sizzle…so the glorious result is that many Israelis peg you at 25.  It’s awesome.  Sex and the City was all about women in their 30s and up, and they all got laid a lot.  Right?  They were still sexy cover girl-y awesome things with exciting careers and lives.  There is hope.  This could be the best thing that ever happened to you.  People will finally take you seriously just because of your age.  Hell, maybe you’ll ever start to take yourself seriously!  Right?  Right.

So…what?

According to Gretchen Rubin and her happiness project, one of the keys to happiness is…not to care.  An interesting article and a technique I have been aware of for some time.  I was the one who received her own copy of “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff…and it’s all small stuff” when I was about 16 years old.

But it’s much easier said than done.  I can easily tell myself, “don’t care, it’s just a birthday.”  And seriously, folks, it’s not like I’m having a coronary here.  I’m sure it will all be fine.  I’ll wake up the day after my birthday, and I will have survived.  I know that.  Oh shit, maybe I shouldn’t jinx myself here…you never know with the state the world is in…I should probably wake up, hopefully wake up, touch wood.    But really not caring…that takes some time and determination and perhaps a really good ability to ignore stuff, brush stuff off, etc.  And I’ve never been one of those people.  I hoped this blog would help.  And it has.  I’ve never had such a well-documented year.  It’s pretty awesome.  Still…

Letting the wish list be the motivator

Yup.  There it is.  I think a lot of people get a bit nervous or emotional at big birthdays.  It’s the insecurity coming through.  I look at other friends of mine and think, “it must have been so much easier for them…” thinking…this one is married and that one has kids and this one has a great career and that one is well placed financially…and so on and so on.  But everyone has the chinks in their armor.  Everyone.  Maybe there’s someone out there wishing they’d gone to India like me.  Or quit a job they hated, like I did.

And the things that I lack that bother me most?  What are they?

• Career versus loving what I do complicated by making money
• A home of my own
• A solid group of friends
• A beautiful relationship

I know these things.  I really do.  And if I’m aware of them, I can work on them and make some headway into eliminating the issues.  This blog helped me do just that.  The work isn’t over.

What can you do?

Ask me how I’m doing on my novel (the badgering helps).  Keep your eyes open for interesting journalism/writing/editing/wine/catering jobs.  And come to my party (if you know me apart from this anonymous blog).  Please come to my party…I promise I will try to make it fun!

And aside from the desperation…some links!

The Best Birthday Ever - courtesy of Improv Everywhere!

The Best Birthday Present Ever – courtesy of Metacafe (hilarious video!)

17 Days: Vive la France!

Happy Bastille Day!

Today I devote myself to my novel which takes place in Paris.  I’ve had some breakthroughs this week, and I know how to tie together the structure, finally!  I just need to do it.

So, folks, French or not, Francophile or not, remember this great day.  Le quatorze juillet commemorates not only the uprising of the modern French nation, but is the symbol of the cusp of many trends in history, in politics and economics.  Nothing was the same after the French Revolution.  For all of us.  And that is indeed something to celebrate.

Enjoy this amazing video from Casablanca!  I always want to cry when I hear the Marseillaise, but I wept openly in this Tel Aviv cafe when I watched this gem.  I marvel that it was a film made in 1942, a war film meant to bolster the nation, when the world had no idea what the outcome of the war would be.  No idea if France would be free again.  If anyone would be safe again.

Allons enfants de la Patrie,	Come, children of the Fatherland,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé !	The day of glory has arrived!
Contre nous de la tyrannie,	Against us tyranny’s
L’étendard sanglant est levé, (bis)	bloodied banner is raised, (repeat)
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes	Do you hear in the countryside
Mugir ces féroces soldats ?	The roar of those ferocious soldiers?
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras	They come right here into your midst
Égorger vos fils, vos compagnes !	To slit the throats of your sons and wives!
Aux armes, citoyens,	To arms, citizens,
Formez vos bataillons,	Form your battalions,
Marchons, marchons !	Let’s march, let’s march!
Qu’un sang impur	May a tainted blood
Abreuve nos sillons !	Drench our furrows!

18 Days: Caffein! Weirdness! Productivity!

Yes, it’s my third post in a 24-hour period.  Wow.  Might help to know about the three cups of coffee I’ve consumed today.

So…here’s the scoop:

• Was on the phone with a charming new acquaintance who asked to put me on hold…and it turns out the other caller…was a charged felon making a rare prison call.  Helps to know my friend is a criminal defense attorney.  But weird to know that the caller on the same line as you is calling from jail.  And talking to the same person you are talking to.
• My “Ideal Human Diet” article has been getting lots of clicks.  I followed some of the ping backs and discovered something interesting.  And bizarre.  There is a group of pro- raw milk folks who are set on trashing Louis Pasteur.  Not sure how I feel about that.  I always marveled at the fact that he cured rabies.  They make him out to be an opportunist and a bit of a thief of other people’s ideas…always following the money, making lots of useless vaccines and the like.  And that Pasteurization doesn’t kill all bacteria while it does harm the milk.  Now, I’m all for raw milk.  But it’s caveat emptor here.  I think it’s healthier.  And if you can get it right from the source, and the conditions are very safe and sanitary.  Fantastic.  But getting milk to the masses is a dangerous business.  And we’re not in a world where people have their own pet cow in the back yard.   Additionally, I’ve just been introduced to a new theory: Pleomorphic Microorganisms, where the website claims, “A virus can become a bacterium which can mutate into a yeast or fungus.” Apparently pharmaceutical companies don’t want us to know about this phenomenon because they would stop making the big bucks on tons of illness-specific meds.  Read a bit more about this term here and here.
  

• Just found out that Chastity Bono (the only daughter of Cher and Sonny Bono) is now Chaz Bono (the only son of Cher and Sonny Bono).  Going through a gender transformation.  Yes.  I was in shock.  But I have no right to be.  I don’t know her.  This is a difficult transition for anyone, and I daresay, this is the first celebrity gender change I have ever heard of.   I guess it hit home more because she was an important figure in my life when I was a teenager.  I identified as a lesbian back then.  Now, it’s somewhat more complicated, but I’ve lived a much more hetero lifestyle for about ten years (perhaps I’ll delve in more in a coming post).  But this is beside the point.  She was a media darling, coming out of the closet the way she did.  I looked up to her.  And I support what s/he is doing now.  It’s just a shock.  And I don’t entirely know why.  In theory I understand transgender people, their feeling trapped in their bodies, their wanting to change to their physical gender.  I support them.  I suppose it goes to show how much gender figures in the identity of a person.  I’ve only known one or two people personally (but not closely) to have undergone this experience, and I wasn’t in touch afterward.  I can’t help but feel like the person they were before no longer exists.  It’s easy to say that s/he is the same person as ever, truer now than ever before.  But I still have trouble referring to my former friend as “he” instead of “she” because when we were friends he was a she.  I know that in order to reconcile this I need to become more informed, meet more people in the transgender community, etc.  Part of me wonders about the role of all the technology that makes this possible.  Fifty years ago or even more recently, sure, you could have said, “I’m a man, I’m a man, I’m a man, I just happened to be born in this female body!”  More likely, because the technology wasn’t available, this sentiment might not even been expressed, or a person might not know how to express it.  How would this person have chosen to live their life before hormones and surgery?  Probably just as a lesbian.  Period.  Maybe dressing in a masculine way. Was Chastity Bono never a lesbian at all, rather a heterosexual man trapped in a woman’s body?  Will cutting off breasts, adding a penis, growing a beard make life different?  Well, of course.  I don’t know where I’m going with this.  But there are so many prominent lesbians I wonder about, you know.  If given the chance, would someone like Gertrude Stein, for instance, choose to change her gender?  Or do the times, the technological possibilities, societal norms (as well as subcultures) dictate everything?  Could Stein have been nothing but a lesbian back then, when in 2009 she might have been undergoing surgery?  I don’t know.  Part of me feels like even the thought of the possibility of this is saddening.  Like, the “lesbian” in me is proud because she was a lesbian.  Bono’s life, body, decision, everything, is her/his own.  But what s/he meant to me back then…it changes something.  Like she was never a lesbian at all.  Even though I’m just talking a bunch of BS right now.  And I have no right to pass judgement here.  Oh the perils of celebrity.  I wish Chaz immense luck on his journey.

18 Days: The Old Optimist Emerges

And I hope she’s here to stay.

Cross a good therapy session, a two-week bout of “white collar” homelessness, and a sappy made-for-tv movie, and what do you get? The twelve year-old in me, the girl who dreamt big and believed it all possible, emerges. And why not? The bigger question here is, where has she been? And why doesn’t she stick around for very long?

Answer one: I’ve been living in jaded-ville off and on for ten years.

Answer two: I’ve been trying to stay in the neutral category, just edging out of negative, that the unthinkable (the positive) was just that.

What the hell am I talking about?  See, it’s as if I’ve created a triptych out of my perception of the world:

• A) world as it should be
• B) world as it is
• C) world as it could be

What’s the subtle difference here?

Option A: the world as it should be

There is a template to this world, and we’ve got it all wrong.  We get sadness, pessimism, cynicism, and hopelessness here.  We have failed in some moral, ethical way.  When we think of the world as a series of mishaps, of what was meant to be, and didn’t happen, it’s a major bummer.  We’ve polluted the air, the water, killed off half the animals and plant species, people are still dying of hunger, horrible diseases are ravaging the world, and on, and on.  The world should not have been this way!  How can we ever get out of it?!  How can we get back on track to how the world should be? It should have been cleaner, we should have been smarter, nicer, more generous…bla, bla, bla.  “Should be” in the very best possible sense focuses only on fixing problems, keeping in mind some illusory “perfect world of should be” as a goal.  It’s a constant reminder of a failure.   And something we owe it to ourselves, or more so, owe it to the world, to work toward.  It’s a struggle here.

Option B: the world as it is

There is no blueprint for how we as a species or the earth as a planet are meant to evolve.  On my best days, these days, this is where I live.  No shoulda coulda woulda.  No right and wrong.  No fault.  No blame.  No emotional entanglement.  Sure, lots of things have been killed off.  Sure, we’re choking ourselves to a slow hot death.  So what.  The universe will not weep for us.  We conquered the planet as a species, so if we did what it what we have done, consequences will ensue.  So what.  Is it wrong?  Is it fair?  What’s fair?  We were stupid, we killed off elements fundamental to our own survival…so we deserve to die.  Right?  Right.  No, not “deserve.”  There is no blame here.  We were stupid.  We will die.  Or maybe we won’t.  If we’re smart and we fix stuff and save our skins.  When I’m in this mode of being, which I often am these days, I marvel at human history.  Industrialization, politics and power, economics and wealth distribution, rights and responsibilities.  All, all, all superficial constructs.  Why does anyone have a right to live?  It’s laughable!  One is born if one is born, without consent or permission.  If a baby died in childbirth, it died in childbirth.  If one person is born to a rich family, and one to a poor family, so what?  Are they equal?  Of course not.  What on earth do rights have to do with it?  This is a world of that which is, simply is.  It’s a world of power, of laissez faire, of sit back and watch what happens.  It’s all so amusing to watch people up in arms over issues when nothing actually matters!

Option C: The world as it could be

We’re making up the blueprint as we go along, always adapting, learning, changing.  I wish I could live here.  It takes effort these days.  Perhaps it just makes me sad to think of the girl I once was, so excited about the future, so excited to be alive and have the chance to participate in something so beautiful and important.  The world as it could be, the world as it could be.  It’s an optimist’s haven.  It’s the world of sci-fi, of Star Trek, of admitting, “sure, it’s really bad…but there’s a bright side, and we’re working hard to get there.”  The world as it could be throws out the idea that there was a definite way the world should be working.  It takes the best of the honesty from Option B (OK, this is where we are), admits to a little bit of option A (OMG!  it’s bad, it’s really bad, and we did it), but gets on with it, takes a deep breath, thinks big and way outside the box, and then makes a realistic plan of attack.  This is the world of Disney, Ford, NASA, the biosphere, Apollo missions, the pyramids of Egypt, hovering bullet trains, Asimov, Gregor Mendel, the Pantheon, Da Vinci and Galileo and Matisse and Picasso and Kandinsky and Rothko.  It’s the best.  It’s hope meeting action.  It’s admitting we can’t have a solid picture of where we “should be headed,” but it doesn’t mean that we, “see the world for what it is and stand still.”  It’s keeping your chin up.  And working hard.  With a goal in mind.

My goals have gotten small lately.  I’m so used to being disappointed with myself, I don’t expect to succeed.  And I forget that I used to be so successful, it was embarrassing.  Like a success junkie.  Maybe that’s what makes this adult reality so much the more difficult.  My self esteem is in the gutter quite often.  But no excuses.  Not anymore.

I care about so many things.  So many.  Sure, it’s a little late to become a NASA scientist or a Greenpeace sailor or a Cousteau researcher.  But I’m only 29 years, 11 months, and 12 days old.  That’s kind of young enough to take on a project.  Or take adopt a new purpose to your life.  Enough with getting by.  I need to reach goals.  Big ones.  Because it is possible.  Helping Israel develop its recycling system (which is embarrassingly behind the rest of the world) is attainable.  Getting a complete amount of organic produce here could be done.  Ending childhood poverty in a country as small as this, can be done.  It can be.  Writing about issues that I find important, and get paid to do it, is possible.  It is.

I just need to figure out how to stay here.  Because I still need a day job for the moment.  I still struggle with depression, big time.  Perhaps Lifetime TV and the Hallmark Channel just became my new best friends…

19 Days: The Ideal Human Diet

A topic that really, really interests me. It should interest everyone, really. What we eat is who we are. The food and drink we imbibe becomes the fabric of our cells. And given the spiral of ill-health around the world, the raging debate (at least in some circles you’ll find me visiting) around vegan-ism being the true natural diet for humans, my oft-hesitant carnivorous tendencies following nearly a decade of vegetarianism, and of course, the fact that I adore cooking, food history, etc, etc, it was serendipitous that I came across this article today.

The Healthiest Foods On Earth!

According to this article by Jonny Bowden, published in Forbes, it’s not necessarily what you eat, but how processed what you eat actually is. There’s a lot of debate as to what the “original” Paleolithic human diet was. Quite varied, probably. Depending on where we originated (rather where our ancestors migrated to and settled into many, many, many thousands of years ago), our predecessors may have thrived upon a high fat, high protein diet (hunting seals and the like in Greenland), or low protein, high carbs (in southern Africa), milk and fatty-cream (Switzerland…and from a documentary I recently saw…Mongolian nomads today thriving mainly on horse milk and yogurt), or even blood. Crazy, right!?

Wrong. The issue I have with vegans is this specifically. Human beings were never vegetarians. Maybe we were when we were apes.  But there’s a reason we’re not still apes.  Our ancestors were resourceful and depending on where they wound up, may have gotten up to 65% or more of their intake from animals. You know, it’s probably the reverse…we ended up where we did because we learned to hunt and gather in this way. We learned to survive. We are learners and adapters. We are human.

Anyway, back to the article. Which made a lot of sense to me. It’s not what you eat, entirely, but how processed it is. The more natural the food, the more whole, the better it is for you. Even meat. Even meat. Sure, the best animal for you to be munching on would be grass fed in an open prairie-type environment that was never ever injected with any hormones or antibiotics. And then there’s milk and eggs. Perfect nutrition. So really, if we stop eating food with preservatives, if we stop eating fast food, fried food, food that doesn’t in a million years resemble food, we’ll be OK. It makes sense to eat organic. To cook simple foods at home. To eat lots of fresh fruits and veg. Nuts, berries, eggs, broccoli and its family, wild fish, raw milk, beans, grass-fed beef. Sounds good right? Better than a big mac? In a heartbeat.

My Message to Vegans

Keep at it. Love what you eat. Fight the man. It’s a good fight. But lay off me. Your logic usually sucks. I agree that most animals we eat are practically (or actually) tortured. That hormones and antibiotics are terrible things to be injecting in them and for us to be absorbing in turn. These policies are huge, most people don’t know about them, and something needs to be done.  But eating animals the right way, drinking milk the right way, eating eggs the right way…I can’t see why that isn’t OK. Perhaps it disgusts you to be thinking that you’re taking part in murder or that it’s revolting to be eating an animal. OK. Good for you.

But chew on this – we (yes, including you, fellow vegans) would not be here, living this life, having created this society in this world (whether you like it or not), would it not have been for our ancestors learning how to hunt and kill and eat and eventually cook other animals. We would not have progressed. We would not have our intelligence. We would not have migrated across the entirety of this globe. Because I learned one really interesting (and almost bizarre) fact today, after having done some fancy (ordinary) internet research: the overall health and life expectancy of humans dramatically declined with the advent of agriculture. That’s right. Early farmers, the ones who enabled us to stop moving and develop cities and writing and technology, were shorter, sicklier, had far more infant mortality, died earlier, and were plagued with a myriad number of diseases.

Seems like we should all be pulling together for all of us to go back to a real Paleolithic diet, a la Fred Flintstone.

As for me, I’ll be looking for organic meat and eggs and milk in Israel.  Anyone any ideas?  Especially in the meat department?