How is it that Americans, so solicitous of the animals they keep as pets, are so indifferent toward the ones they cook for dinner?

We eat cows that are force-fed corn, which kills them (they are supposed to eat grass).  We eat chickens that live shoulder to shoulder in a windowless stall, where “ammonia fumes thrown off by their rotting excrement lead to breast blisters, leg sores, and respiratory disease.”  At this point, when it  comes to eating meat, no one has an excuse not to know where it comes from.  Americans either turn away from the disgusting truth, or they become conscious and active in the type of food they choose to put in their bodies.

You are what what you eat eats.

The guy  that wrote Everything is Illuminated just came out with a book called Eating Animals. You can read the review here, and you should.

give me a saturday (such as today) and this is what i would probably do with it:

eat at electric cheetah
finish reading young adult novel the perks of being a wallflower
make homemade cookies and eat too many of them
wear long-johns
record cover songs
go to the library

you know, typical b-boy stuff.

also, my favorite line from wallflower was this:

even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn’t really change the fact that you have what you have.   good and bad.

i think since i wasn’t a big reader in high school, i have a lot of catching up to do.  and, it was a good book.  and, i learned a lot from it.

Probably my favorite one from the tour.

The more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it.

I am reading The War of Art by Steven Pressfield.  It is talking about how Resistance and procrastination are the most toxic of diseases, how they can take on different forms, and how we break through them. Go, quickly!  Find it and read it.

Yay!

I suppose I’m a sucker for 70s AM pop.  It’s so good, though.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55eQvRVzebQ

My goodness….

A doodle from class today.  You know what’s on my mind.

Whatever happened to Zima?  My fellow cronies and I were wondering this last nite.

Zima, to me, is this mystical adult drink, since at the time of its popularity, I was not thinking about alcohol.  So, Zima is in some ways an enigma; a treasure trove of 90s commercials and clear malted beverages.  It’s on the same page as cartoons I watched when I was younger; it’s simply a part of my childhood.  We got to talking about it last night because, in many ways, its this secret that can finally be told to us, sort of like all the hidden adult jokes in children’s movies.  Bring it on, Zima.

Our collaboration last nite came to the conclusion that Zima MUST be provided via keg at our next house party.  One can imagine that, after years of terrible business, the Zima employees are elated that they are finally getting back to work.

The steam whistle blows.  The blue collar workers clock in.  The muscled, shirtless employee uses all his force to bring down a lever, setting each and every cog and spoke in the factory moving.  It takes a while to get the engines running, but in the coal room, workers are feverishly shoveling fuel into the fire.  Burly, crew cut men toss their hard hats upon their heads and hit the main floor, filling up various vats, wrestling with different pulleys and levers, all the while sweating immensely due to the stifling, stuffy environment of the Zima factory.  Up on the second floor, steel workers are melting down their medium, welders are welding once again, blacksmith’s are crafting their instruments, and the cobbler is fitting horses with horseshoes.  The Zima factory is once again moving, and heavy industry is back on the map.

Meanwhile, news spreads of the factory’s reopening.  The company’’s  New York operators are working feverishly at their switchboard, plugging in and transferring various phone calls of politicians (everyone from the Farmer-Labor party to the Greenbacks), journalists, carpetbaggers, scalawags,  and the like.  “Zima, how can I help you?  Mr. Bernstein on the fourth floor?  Hold, please.”  The late edition of the Sunday Post has newsies screaming from the street, “Extra! Extra! Zima factory reopens!  Thousands back to work!”  Orders start pouring in:

This is Eric Kehoe. Stop.
Three barrels of Zima needed. Stop.
Party in Grand Rapids. Stop.
Post haste. Stop.

And as Zima is finally transported once again through the trolley car’s, Studebaker’s, and cargo ships of America, we all get to once again enjoy this savory giggle water, and everything is Jake. Cheers!

Being in college is all about learning.  I learn something every day, sometimes about other things, and sometimes about me.  Take this one for example.

My legs are of the hard labor, blue collar ilk, while my hands are more white collar and “wussy,” so to speak.

You see, I have always gravitated towards using my legs when it came to things that involve perspiration/physical labor.

• Played soccer my whole life, which involves no use of arms.
• Enjoy riding my bike as a mode of transportation; again, little arm usage.
• Lift with my legs, not with my back; arms are mostly the foreman of the job, the legs are the workers.

Meanwhile, my hands have “finger-walked” their way towards less strenuous activites, like typing this blog, for example! Other notable hand exercises:

• Playing instruments.
• Writing (left-handed and proud of it).
• Turning the pages of a book.
• Picking my nose.

If you ever see me walking on my hands while flipping the pages of a book with my toes, something has been changed..