Israeli schools are holding discussions about hate and hate crimes.
In Russia, the Life of a Galley Slave apparently includes luxury watches.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
Look at that sleepy f*!
 |
| What? What just happened? |
 |
| Are we done? Can I go back to sleep? |
 |
| I'll take that as a yes. |
 |
| Goodnight. |
 | ||||
Mmm, I love sleep.
|
Monday evening roundup (weighty issues edition) and ramble
All we're saying is we have a right to know about our food. The argument that less knowledge is power--that less knowledge is more choice--is just Orwellian.
Let's talk about weight, in light of the potentially positive effects of pro-ana websites to the "phenomenon" of doctors refusing to take obese patients. And in light of a conversation I had today at work. And one I had nearly twenty years ago in college. That conversation was with a fellow college student who had recovered from an eating disorder. She raged against fashion models and offered the following scenario: an impressionable teenager sees a picture of an emaciated model hanging on the wall of her boyfriend's room; she can't help but compare herself to the model, to see the model as an ideal. I guess, but that's already a tinderbox situation; the solution is to make the girl less impressionable, not to hide the model (though the boy, too, might want to be more sensitive). Look: you can't blame people for displaying looks or behaviors. You, we have to decide for ourselves to love ourselves the way we are. Models are generally tall; I am 5'1". And as I wrote last week, I wear flats. I wear flats even in the face of the douche bags on Date Lab and other forums balk at the fact that women dare wear flats. I wear flats because I'm secure about myself, not because society in general and men in particular have sent me the message that short is the ideal. I don't wear makeup, not because models and magazines encourage it (and certainly not because the "real guys" the magazines interview say it's okay). Rather than asking magazines and models to tone it down, shouldn't we focus on building ourselves up? If we just keep shifting the ideal, there's always going to be an external ideal. Once we accept ourselves from within, we'll be able to own our own ideal.
I'll get to the conversation I had today at work in a minute, but first I'll tell you about a conversation from a couple of months ago. Someone was railing against the "fat acceptance" culture; if there's anything we in this country don't need to do, it's accept fat. As you can deduce from what I just wrote, I disagreed. From an aesthetic perspective. I'm all over 'big is beautiful,' but I'm not going to pretend that at some level, big isn't inherently unhealthy. And impractical. I rolled my eyes at the rejected new patient in the video; I don't blame the doctor for not wanting to deal with her at the expense of her staff, who have experienced injuries on account of overweight patients. I know of emergency responders who have been permanently injured in the process of coming to the aid of overweight people. I've worried about my own overweight friends who are insufficiently mobile to get out of a dangerous situation, should one occur. It's not unlike dealing with smokers: I don't judge you, but you come with natural consequences that I don't want to deal with. For example, I don't want my spaces smelling like smoke. It's not shaming; it's acknowledging that there are practical consequences to being overweight. I don’t blame a doctor who’s concerned about her staff’s safety, and I don’t blame airlines for charging for two seats when people require two seats. There's acceptance and there's accommodation. And there’s evidence that non-accommodation works. I’ve heard from people that it can be a wake-up call, a sign that something’s got to give.
***
Let's talk about weight, in light of the potentially positive effects of pro-ana websites to the "phenomenon" of doctors refusing to take obese patients. And in light of a conversation I had today at work. And one I had nearly twenty years ago in college. That conversation was with a fellow college student who had recovered from an eating disorder. She raged against fashion models and offered the following scenario: an impressionable teenager sees a picture of an emaciated model hanging on the wall of her boyfriend's room; she can't help but compare herself to the model, to see the model as an ideal. I guess, but that's already a tinderbox situation; the solution is to make the girl less impressionable, not to hide the model (though the boy, too, might want to be more sensitive). Look: you can't blame people for displaying looks or behaviors. You, we have to decide for ourselves to love ourselves the way we are. Models are generally tall; I am 5'1". And as I wrote last week, I wear flats. I wear flats even in the face of the douche bags on Date Lab and other forums balk at the fact that women dare wear flats. I wear flats because I'm secure about myself, not because society in general and men in particular have sent me the message that short is the ideal. I don't wear makeup, not because models and magazines encourage it (and certainly not because the "real guys" the magazines interview say it's okay). Rather than asking magazines and models to tone it down, shouldn't we focus on building ourselves up? If we just keep shifting the ideal, there's always going to be an external ideal. Once we accept ourselves from within, we'll be able to own our own ideal.
I'll get to the conversation I had today at work in a minute, but first I'll tell you about a conversation from a couple of months ago. Someone was railing against the "fat acceptance" culture; if there's anything we in this country don't need to do, it's accept fat. As you can deduce from what I just wrote, I disagreed. From an aesthetic perspective. I'm all over 'big is beautiful,' but I'm not going to pretend that at some level, big isn't inherently unhealthy. And impractical. I rolled my eyes at the rejected new patient in the video; I don't blame the doctor for not wanting to deal with her at the expense of her staff, who have experienced injuries on account of overweight patients. I know of emergency responders who have been permanently injured in the process of coming to the aid of overweight people. I've worried about my own overweight friends who are insufficiently mobile to get out of a dangerous situation, should one occur. It's not unlike dealing with smokers: I don't judge you, but you come with natural consequences that I don't want to deal with. For example, I don't want my spaces smelling like smoke. It's not shaming; it's acknowledging that there are practical consequences to being overweight. I don’t blame a doctor who’s concerned about her staff’s safety, and I don’t blame airlines for charging for two seats when people require two seats. There's acceptance and there's accommodation. And there’s evidence that non-accommodation works. I’ve heard from people that it can be a wake-up call, a sign that something’s got to give.
***
Onto the second conversation, which, though technically happened "at work," really happened at the gym. It's not a coincidence that, of the handful of colleagues who commented on my
weight loss, all but a few did so at the gym. Two did so outside of work (i.e., they're also outside-of-work friends), and one is enough of a friend that it wasn't weird. But the work people whom I don't know that well, who have said something, said something at the gym, where it’s understandably more reasonable to draw notice to people’s changes in weight.
Even at the gym, there are, as I wrote in November, right and wrong ways to comment on someone’s weight loss. “Are you even tinier?” fits into the right category because it doesn't make you feel that your “before” state was one of ginormousness. The same woman who said that then approached me again today and asked whether I’d lost even more weight (yes, probably another 10 pounds since she last asked). Was I done, she asked? I shrugged, told her I wasn’t trying, hadn’t been for a while. She expressed (genuine) concern, said I didn’t want to go “too skinny.” I reassured her that I still had a few pounds to spare before I’d have to worry about that (I even lifted my shirt to expose my mid-riff so as to demonstrate). I also reassured her that I, myself, wasn't interested in being "too skinny." When I see models like those in the androgynous slide show I posted the other day, I think "ugh," not "ooh, ten more pounds to go!" (See what I wrote above about honoring our own ideals).
Nonetheless, she asked whether I had someone to warn me if I were to get too thin. I said I hadn’t thought about it, but that she was welcome to—that I wouldn’t be offended of she expressed concern. And I won’t be. But what could I do?? I wouldn't exercise less; I exercise because I want to, not because I want to lose weight, and I eat whatever I want. I’m not willing to force myself to eat more than I want—that’s something I’ve trained myself not to do, and I’m not willing to unlearn. I certainly have no interest in consuming meat or dairy or junkfood. As of now, I still have several pounds' worth of cushion, and plenty of muscle.
This woman isn't the first to suggest that I quit losing weight. Another friend (who takes enormous amount of pride in being thin and takes it very seriously) also told me it was time to stop. I also told her I wasn't doing anything (except for eating lots of carbs, which she eschews at all costs).
I bring this up in the context of my visit to my parents later this week: people are warning me that I'm on the verge of emaciation; will mom still manage to tell me that I've gained weight? Tune in.
Even at the gym, there are, as I wrote in November, right and wrong ways to comment on someone’s weight loss. “Are you even tinier?” fits into the right category because it doesn't make you feel that your “before” state was one of ginormousness. The same woman who said that then approached me again today and asked whether I’d lost even more weight (yes, probably another 10 pounds since she last asked). Was I done, she asked? I shrugged, told her I wasn’t trying, hadn’t been for a while. She expressed (genuine) concern, said I didn’t want to go “too skinny.” I reassured her that I still had a few pounds to spare before I’d have to worry about that (I even lifted my shirt to expose my mid-riff so as to demonstrate). I also reassured her that I, myself, wasn't interested in being "too skinny." When I see models like those in the androgynous slide show I posted the other day, I think "ugh," not "ooh, ten more pounds to go!" (See what I wrote above about honoring our own ideals).
Nonetheless, she asked whether I had someone to warn me if I were to get too thin. I said I hadn’t thought about it, but that she was welcome to—that I wouldn’t be offended of she expressed concern. And I won’t be. But what could I do?? I wouldn't exercise less; I exercise because I want to, not because I want to lose weight, and I eat whatever I want. I’m not willing to force myself to eat more than I want—that’s something I’ve trained myself not to do, and I’m not willing to unlearn. I certainly have no interest in consuming meat or dairy or junkfood. As of now, I still have several pounds' worth of cushion, and plenty of muscle.
This woman isn't the first to suggest that I quit losing weight. Another friend (who takes enormous amount of pride in being thin and takes it very seriously) also told me it was time to stop. I also told her I wasn't doing anything (except for eating lots of carbs, which she eschews at all costs).
I bring this up in the context of my visit to my parents later this week: people are warning me that I'm on the verge of emaciation; will mom still manage to tell me that I've gained weight? Tune in.
Monday morning roundup and announcement
Turkey has reached capacity in terms of Syrian refugees.
Egypt is facing a garbage crisis.
The world--or at least the country--could use more great writing teachers. I've taken very little formal instruction in writing, and any that I've taken has been specific (writing in a given language, writing a certain kind of product) and so has assumed a basic level of writing skill. I agree with the "rules" discussed in that article: revision is key, write to express rather than impress; but I come across a more fundamental issue in a lot of writing I see: lack of clarity. I must have developed a sensitivity for clarity in taking foreign language classes, where there's an emphasis on agreement, but this sensitivity is lacking even among many educated people. I very often see sentences where there's a mismatch between the stated and intended subject, or object, and the verb. Put less technically: a lot of writers don't put enough care in making sure the reader has no doubt about what the writer means.
***
Over the weekend, a friend said she wasn't doing any food shopping over the weekend since she would leave town for the following weekend. "I shop at the Farmer's Market; that food is to expensive to risk wasting." If only that were the case with food in general. I believe that food should be generally affordable, but it should also be valuable enough that we're wary of wasting it. Even I--who is very wary of wasting food--sometimes find myself throwing things out. I hate to do it, but it happens. But I get the sense that many people find food a whole lot more disposable.
***
Guess what? In anticipation of my upcoming visit to my parents' house, I have joined Twitter. I will continue to avail myself of these pages to share actual conversations, but I'll take to Twitter (@youputonweight) for--you guessed it--Mom's one-off observations that I've gained weight. And, I suppose, Mom's one-off observations in general.
Egypt is facing a garbage crisis.
The world--or at least the country--could use more great writing teachers. I've taken very little formal instruction in writing, and any that I've taken has been specific (writing in a given language, writing a certain kind of product) and so has assumed a basic level of writing skill. I agree with the "rules" discussed in that article: revision is key, write to express rather than impress; but I come across a more fundamental issue in a lot of writing I see: lack of clarity. I must have developed a sensitivity for clarity in taking foreign language classes, where there's an emphasis on agreement, but this sensitivity is lacking even among many educated people. I very often see sentences where there's a mismatch between the stated and intended subject, or object, and the verb. Put less technically: a lot of writers don't put enough care in making sure the reader has no doubt about what the writer means.
***
Over the weekend, a friend said she wasn't doing any food shopping over the weekend since she would leave town for the following weekend. "I shop at the Farmer's Market; that food is to expensive to risk wasting." If only that were the case with food in general. I believe that food should be generally affordable, but it should also be valuable enough that we're wary of wasting it. Even I--who is very wary of wasting food--sometimes find myself throwing things out. I hate to do it, but it happens. But I get the sense that many people find food a whole lot more disposable.
***
Guess what? In anticipation of my upcoming visit to my parents' house, I have joined Twitter. I will continue to avail myself of these pages to share actual conversations, but I'll take to Twitter (@youputonweight) for--you guessed it--Mom's one-off observations that I've gained weight. And, I suppose, Mom's one-off observations in general.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Sunday evening roundup
The only surprising thing about this story on Chinese arms in African conflict zones is that it's news.
Sufi sites in Libya are under attack.
A Colombian writer memorializes his father.
There's more to Jeffrey Rosen's review of David K. Shipler's "Rights at Risk" than the anecdote about the TSA and the t-shirt, but it stands out because of today's story about appropriate attire on airplanes. When is a message shirt offensive? As someone who feels little need to broadcast my beliefs on my chest (though I'd make an exception for an "I eat carbs" shirt), I still bristle at the idea of censorship by selective boarding rights.
Speaking of appropriate attire, it's okay for kids of diaper age to wear only diapers.
Does Gene Weingarten read the very paper he writes for? Crime is low? Pick up the Metro section of the Post. Also, I'm sorry but Metro carpets are filthy as all hell. Oh, and you know what's really not cool? Gene Weingarten's comic strip. But yes, Chinatown has "authenticity issues" and we can have a conversation about how cool Forbes' designated cities are.
Please don't take my Droid away. Oh, you should hear what Lewis Black says about Droids (and other stuff). Watch "In God We Rust," it's hilarious.
Sufi sites in Libya are under attack.
A Colombian writer memorializes his father.
There's more to Jeffrey Rosen's review of David K. Shipler's "Rights at Risk" than the anecdote about the TSA and the t-shirt, but it stands out because of today's story about appropriate attire on airplanes. When is a message shirt offensive? As someone who feels little need to broadcast my beliefs on my chest (though I'd make an exception for an "I eat carbs" shirt), I still bristle at the idea of censorship by selective boarding rights.
Speaking of appropriate attire, it's okay for kids of diaper age to wear only diapers.
Does Gene Weingarten read the very paper he writes for? Crime is low? Pick up the Metro section of the Post. Also, I'm sorry but Metro carpets are filthy as all hell. Oh, and you know what's really not cool? Gene Weingarten's comic strip. But yes, Chinatown has "authenticity issues" and we can have a conversation about how cool Forbes' designated cities are.
Please don't take my Droid away. Oh, you should hear what Lewis Black says about Droids (and other stuff). Watch "In God We Rust," it's hilarious.
Sunday afternoon roundup (body edition) and another ramble about getting around
This woman's boss told her that pumping was disgusting.
Today is Go Topless Day and I'm wasting it. Remind me to hit a beach this time next year.
You can't exploit the attention paid to other women's post-baby bodies and then act shocked--shocked! when it comes back to bite you. Also, for your own sake, don't assume someone's pregnant even if she looks it.
***
Recently, I've been writing a lot about getting into, around, and back from DC. You've read that I refer to take the Metro, within reason, but sometimes driving's the best option. Those times are usually weekends--especially when there's single-tracking--or late nights, or anytime you'd need to change trains outside of rush hour. Then there are the factors related to driving, like traffic and the availability of parking. And external factors, like how behind you are on New Yorkers you could read on the metro, as well as your plans to drink or transport unwieldy objects (such as food you're bringing to an event, or good you're planning on purchasing).
Sunday is generally both the worst day to metro and the best day to drive, especially in the morning. Sunday morning is when I also prefer to be on my bike, but I wasn't feeling it this morning. Also, I would be transporting a large object--the latest effort to manage my cat's asthma, in the form of a tower air purifier. And I'm happy to report--in case you care, for the purpose of your own driving vs. Metro decisions--that it was a surprisingly smooth drive in both directions. That it's a straight shot from Alexandria to Columbia Heights doesn't matter when there are scores of lights in between, but those lights are synchronized such that when traffic flows, it really flows.
But here's another issue about driving in DC: DC is stricter about cell phones. I think the ban on operating phones in any way is intact. So what happens when a phone is not just a phone? When using the phone as a phone is the last thing you're thinking of doing? When the phone is your map and navigator, and also your radio? Could I be pulled over in DC for looking at the map on my phone or turning on Pandora? Would that be any more right than pulling someone over for looking at a paper map or turning on the radio?
Saturday, August 25, 2012
What I'm not eating
This or any of this. I do not care whether the deep-fried Koolaid balls are vegan; I don't think I could handle them.
If only talking stupidly were a crime.
If only talking stupidly were a crime.
More adventures in getting around the city (and eating with holes in my mouth)
Two Fridays ago, I took to these pages to vent about my nearly-90-minute return trip by Metro from a friend's house. A couple of weeks before that, I'd driven there and back in twenty minutes each way. I often metro from that area, and it takes 30-40 minutes, which is fine; 90 minutes is not.
The thing with Metro is that it's great until it isn't. Last week, I wrote about how my wisdom teeth were out by 9:15am and prescriptions picked up by 9:45, and I was home, by metro, before 10:30. I thought about how when I lived in Boston, I'd arrived late for a dentist appointment because the T was just that unreliable, particularly the Green Line and even more particularly outside of downtown once it splits. You just don't know when that thing is coming. How nice that I didn't have to worry about that kind of thing in DC. Until I did. On Thursday morning, I had to wait over ten minutes for a Blue Line train (oh, the irony! usually my frustration is in watching two or more Blues go by as I wait for the Yellow that will take me to work), and it was even longer in coming, because I didn't miss any on my approach to the metro. I thought I'd still make my appointment in good time, but there was a "switch problem" farther down the line, so we were stranded at Rosslyn--one stop away! for ten minutes or more. I was about that late for my appointment, and they were fine with it, since the oral surgeon was equally late and I'd called from the Metro--but it was not good. Some dentists' offices charge you for every fifteen minutes you're late. I wasn't so much worried about that as nonplussed. I suppose I could consider the bright side: they resolved the switch problem relatively quickly.
It took me longer to get to the appointment from Rosslyn than for the appointment to transpire. The oral surgeon cut out my remaining stitches and told me to keep rinsing. All the teeth had come out in one piece, so fragments were not an issue. After the appointment, I headed toward the Metro, until I realized that I could walk to work in about as much time. Even during rush hour (it was only not quite 8:30am), waiting for two trains and factoring in any more potential Metro delays would not save me much time, and it was a beautiful morning. So I walked to work, rolled in just after 9am.
I'm happy to round off this ramble with a surprisingly positive commuting experience. A friend had called a gathering to celebrate his surviving his first week of law school. I really wanted to join him, but the prospect of getting to and from Glover Park--where I lived my first year of grad school, i.e., my first year in DC, and which is notoriously far from any Metrorail stop--was stressing me out. I almost considered going home from work, picking up my car, and driving back into DC, but that would be ridiculous. Getting there was less of an issue: I'd Metro up to Woodley--direct line from work--and walk (a bus would have shaved four minutes off the half-hour trip from there). Getting home would be trickier: would it be absurd to just walk to Rosslyn? I've written about how wary I am of DC buses. But when it was time to go, my friend said that a number of buses leave from directly in front of the restaurant (the awesome Surfside, more on that in a minute) and go to Foggy Bottom. And there was one approaching a minute after I stepped out of the restaurant. It was seamless: straight shot. Now, this was largely because there was little traffic. The one delay happened when three tourists came in and had to change money. I don't blame them: it's not their fault that DC doesn't have a system where you can pay the fare outside the actual bus unless you have a SmartTrip card--but it causes delays, and delays can build upon themselves. Once the tourists paid, the light turned red again. Fine when there's no traffic, but when I took DC buses all the time, this would often compound on itself. But I digress. It took me an hour to get home, door to door, which is really not bad considering that it wasn't rush hour.
As for Surfside, I'd never been or even heard of it. I don't know if it was there when I lived just a few blocks south of where it is. But I love a good roof deck,
and the food was very fresh, and tasty. You can order pre-made tacos, burritos, etc. or build your own on a sushi-like order form. I got a grilled veggie burrito with spicy black bean garnish. The veggies--you can pick, and I opted for mushrooms, zucchini, and spinach--were really fresh and not overdone.
This was my biggest adventure in solid food since the surgery--and my friend, who'd had his wisdom teeth pulled, with complications (dry socket, infection) was impressed. It felt really good to eat salad. There's still food I'm staying away from (chips, anything else that creates crumbs) but this was all pretty soft, even thought it wasn't mushy. Also, from a purely logistical standpoint, it's nice to order, pay, and sit without having to wait for a check afterward.
This friend and I have friends in common--other grad school friends, and friends we've introduced each other to since--but none were there, so it was good to chat with his other friends. It also made me realize that I needed to get out more because maybe I'm the one who inhabits a parallel universe? One person there asked who Janet Napolitano was (keep in mind that at least a few people there worked for the agency she heads), and another--in all seriousness--suggested the Taj Mahal was in Moscow.
At one point, the conversation turned to wedding planning, as one couple there was in the midst of just that. I've heard so many couples go through this--more, even, than go through the no-meat conundrum: how much, if any, God to invite into the ceremony. It's a huge generation gap, already, but throw in the gap, if any, between the families, and it's quite the decision. This couple was still undecided.
***
The people who suggest having oatmeal as an early, mushy post-extraction food are confused about oatmeal or at least missing out on good oatmeal. Oatmeal should be chewy. I just had oatmeal for the first time since the surgery, and I couldn't have handled it a few days ago. Set aside the abomination that is instant oatmeal (disclosure: I am known to partake in said abomination when camping or traveling, or in other situations with limited breakfast logistics, but it's merely a convenience food). Even lots of rolled oats out there--and even those labeled "old fashioned"--are so rolled as to practically disintegrate into a porridge when cooked. Which is fine, if you like that kind of thing or are nursing fresh holes in your mouth, but less-rolled, less-steamed oats offer more flavor and texture. I literally go out of my way--yes, a few miles is out of my way when there are four grocery stores and counting that I can walk to--to Mom's Organic Market for their bulk, organic oats. The ones at Whole Foods are almost as good, but now, more expensive (at $1.99/lb to MOM's $1.39/lb, which adds up when you put away as much oatmeal as I do). By the way, these prices still come to less than you'll pay for pre-packaged, conventional rolled oats at other markets. I'll get the ones at WF when I can't get to Mom's, but the ones at Mom's are the best.
***
I just Googled Mom's and rolled oats to see if I could add a link to the above paragraph; I didn't find one, but I did come across this silliness. I don't have an opinion about Lance Armstrong, but I do have an opinion about LiveStrong, which is that it's a joke. Any advice there is pretty pathetic and superficial, if not wrong. So I had low expectations going in, but really? First of all, if you're asking whether oatmeal is low carb, I don't want to hear your opinions, should you have any, about human reproduction. But more importantly, just embrace the carbs.
The thing with Metro is that it's great until it isn't. Last week, I wrote about how my wisdom teeth were out by 9:15am and prescriptions picked up by 9:45, and I was home, by metro, before 10:30. I thought about how when I lived in Boston, I'd arrived late for a dentist appointment because the T was just that unreliable, particularly the Green Line and even more particularly outside of downtown once it splits. You just don't know when that thing is coming. How nice that I didn't have to worry about that kind of thing in DC. Until I did. On Thursday morning, I had to wait over ten minutes for a Blue Line train (oh, the irony! usually my frustration is in watching two or more Blues go by as I wait for the Yellow that will take me to work), and it was even longer in coming, because I didn't miss any on my approach to the metro. I thought I'd still make my appointment in good time, but there was a "switch problem" farther down the line, so we were stranded at Rosslyn--one stop away! for ten minutes or more. I was about that late for my appointment, and they were fine with it, since the oral surgeon was equally late and I'd called from the Metro--but it was not good. Some dentists' offices charge you for every fifteen minutes you're late. I wasn't so much worried about that as nonplussed. I suppose I could consider the bright side: they resolved the switch problem relatively quickly.
It took me longer to get to the appointment from Rosslyn than for the appointment to transpire. The oral surgeon cut out my remaining stitches and told me to keep rinsing. All the teeth had come out in one piece, so fragments were not an issue. After the appointment, I headed toward the Metro, until I realized that I could walk to work in about as much time. Even during rush hour (it was only not quite 8:30am), waiting for two trains and factoring in any more potential Metro delays would not save me much time, and it was a beautiful morning. So I walked to work, rolled in just after 9am.
I'm happy to round off this ramble with a surprisingly positive commuting experience. A friend had called a gathering to celebrate his surviving his first week of law school. I really wanted to join him, but the prospect of getting to and from Glover Park--where I lived my first year of grad school, i.e., my first year in DC, and which is notoriously far from any Metrorail stop--was stressing me out. I almost considered going home from work, picking up my car, and driving back into DC, but that would be ridiculous. Getting there was less of an issue: I'd Metro up to Woodley--direct line from work--and walk (a bus would have shaved four minutes off the half-hour trip from there). Getting home would be trickier: would it be absurd to just walk to Rosslyn? I've written about how wary I am of DC buses. But when it was time to go, my friend said that a number of buses leave from directly in front of the restaurant (the awesome Surfside, more on that in a minute) and go to Foggy Bottom. And there was one approaching a minute after I stepped out of the restaurant. It was seamless: straight shot. Now, this was largely because there was little traffic. The one delay happened when three tourists came in and had to change money. I don't blame them: it's not their fault that DC doesn't have a system where you can pay the fare outside the actual bus unless you have a SmartTrip card--but it causes delays, and delays can build upon themselves. Once the tourists paid, the light turned red again. Fine when there's no traffic, but when I took DC buses all the time, this would often compound on itself. But I digress. It took me an hour to get home, door to door, which is really not bad considering that it wasn't rush hour.
As for Surfside, I'd never been or even heard of it. I don't know if it was there when I lived just a few blocks south of where it is. But I love a good roof deck,
and the food was very fresh, and tasty. You can order pre-made tacos, burritos, etc. or build your own on a sushi-like order form. I got a grilled veggie burrito with spicy black bean garnish. The veggies--you can pick, and I opted for mushrooms, zucchini, and spinach--were really fresh and not overdone.
This was my biggest adventure in solid food since the surgery--and my friend, who'd had his wisdom teeth pulled, with complications (dry socket, infection) was impressed. It felt really good to eat salad. There's still food I'm staying away from (chips, anything else that creates crumbs) but this was all pretty soft, even thought it wasn't mushy. Also, from a purely logistical standpoint, it's nice to order, pay, and sit without having to wait for a check afterward.
This friend and I have friends in common--other grad school friends, and friends we've introduced each other to since--but none were there, so it was good to chat with his other friends. It also made me realize that I needed to get out more because maybe I'm the one who inhabits a parallel universe? One person there asked who Janet Napolitano was (keep in mind that at least a few people there worked for the agency she heads), and another--in all seriousness--suggested the Taj Mahal was in Moscow.
At one point, the conversation turned to wedding planning, as one couple there was in the midst of just that. I've heard so many couples go through this--more, even, than go through the no-meat conundrum: how much, if any, God to invite into the ceremony. It's a huge generation gap, already, but throw in the gap, if any, between the families, and it's quite the decision. This couple was still undecided.
***
The people who suggest having oatmeal as an early, mushy post-extraction food are confused about oatmeal or at least missing out on good oatmeal. Oatmeal should be chewy. I just had oatmeal for the first time since the surgery, and I couldn't have handled it a few days ago. Set aside the abomination that is instant oatmeal (disclosure: I am known to partake in said abomination when camping or traveling, or in other situations with limited breakfast logistics, but it's merely a convenience food). Even lots of rolled oats out there--and even those labeled "old fashioned"--are so rolled as to practically disintegrate into a porridge when cooked. Which is fine, if you like that kind of thing or are nursing fresh holes in your mouth, but less-rolled, less-steamed oats offer more flavor and texture. I literally go out of my way--yes, a few miles is out of my way when there are four grocery stores and counting that I can walk to--to Mom's Organic Market for their bulk, organic oats. The ones at Whole Foods are almost as good, but now, more expensive (at $1.99/lb to MOM's $1.39/lb, which adds up when you put away as much oatmeal as I do). By the way, these prices still come to less than you'll pay for pre-packaged, conventional rolled oats at other markets. I'll get the ones at WF when I can't get to Mom's, but the ones at Mom's are the best.
***
I just Googled Mom's and rolled oats to see if I could add a link to the above paragraph; I didn't find one, but I did come across this silliness. I don't have an opinion about Lance Armstrong, but I do have an opinion about LiveStrong, which is that it's a joke. Any advice there is pretty pathetic and superficial, if not wrong. So I had low expectations going in, but really? First of all, if you're asking whether oatmeal is low carb, I don't want to hear your opinions, should you have any, about human reproduction. But more importantly, just embrace the carbs.
Saturday morning roundup
They caught the Dupont Circle assaulter-on-wheels.
How many mass shootings in a short time would be considered too many to keep track of?
Anxiety and love can only compete, and the one chosen will always push the other out of the way.
Abstinence educations is failing much of the country.
Dietitians may be coming to your supermarket.
Sigh. The old "imposing one's dietary restrictions on others" argument is just... old. By the way, a friend pointed out that the Phillies' Stadium is the most veggie-friendly in the country. I honestly had no idea that so many baseball stadiums had ample vegetarian offerings.
Don't buy the green-washing: your guide to compostable packaging.
Sometimes (but not usually) digital breakups, if done correctly, are for the best.
Slate is right: internet advertising often falls into the "too much, too late" category. When I was shopping for a smart phone, I visited a lot of review sites and sent out an e-mail to everyone I knew with a smart phone asking for their opinions and experiences. My browsing behavior and my e-mail (as well as those sent in response) were screaming, "show me smart phone ads!" And those ads arrived and invaded every website I visited--about a week after I'd already ordered a phone. And they didn't go away for a while. Similarly, I got months of Gmail ads for trips to the Galapagos... after I'd already come back from the Galapagos and sent out pictures. Don't even get me (or Jay) started on Russian bride ads.
The common denominator I'm getting here (i.e., in a slide show of fall trends) is androgyny, but I can't tell whether it's the clothes or just the models.
How many mass shootings in a short time would be considered too many to keep track of?
Anxiety and love can only compete, and the one chosen will always push the other out of the way.
Abstinence educations is failing much of the country.
Dietitians may be coming to your supermarket.
Sigh. The old "imposing one's dietary restrictions on others" argument is just... old. By the way, a friend pointed out that the Phillies' Stadium is the most veggie-friendly in the country. I honestly had no idea that so many baseball stadiums had ample vegetarian offerings.
Don't buy the green-washing: your guide to compostable packaging.
Sometimes (but not usually) digital breakups, if done correctly, are for the best.
Slate is right: internet advertising often falls into the "too much, too late" category. When I was shopping for a smart phone, I visited a lot of review sites and sent out an e-mail to everyone I knew with a smart phone asking for their opinions and experiences. My browsing behavior and my e-mail (as well as those sent in response) were screaming, "show me smart phone ads!" And those ads arrived and invaded every website I visited--about a week after I'd already ordered a phone. And they didn't go away for a while. Similarly, I got months of Gmail ads for trips to the Galapagos... after I'd already come back from the Galapagos and sent out pictures. Don't even get me (or Jay) started on Russian bride ads.
The common denominator I'm getting here (i.e., in a slide show of fall trends) is androgyny, but I can't tell whether it's the clothes or just the models.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Friday morning roundup
I've never understood private school.
Lots of hate out there for single women... and women in general, apparently. Wow.
Lots of hate out there for single women... and women in general, apparently. Wow.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Thursday evening roundup
Harry G. Barnes, Jr. was an accomplished, principled statesman.
The Chinese resort to the Kickstarter approach not only for philanthropy but basic social services.
Tensions in the Pacific are not surprising, but the lack of meaningful mitigation (kind-of) is.
You may not have thought it possible, but inequality in Latin America has only gotten worse.
Can activists save what's left of Nizhny Novgorod?
Can Europe's royals survive the continent's severe recession?
Fox's female anchors sure do layer on the cosmetics.
Turns out your cat isn't poisoning you, even if he/she is a jerk.
The Chinese resort to the Kickstarter approach not only for philanthropy but basic social services.
Tensions in the Pacific are not surprising, but the lack of meaningful mitigation (kind-of) is.
You may not have thought it possible, but inequality in Latin America has only gotten worse.
Can activists save what's left of Nizhny Novgorod?
Can Europe's royals survive the continent's severe recession?
Fox's female anchors sure do layer on the cosmetics.
Turns out your cat isn't poisoning you, even if he/she is a jerk.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Day 7 of wisdom-toothless bliss
My follow-up appointment is tomorrow morning. I did quite a vigorous workout this morning with little fear. I think once the blood clot is pretty established, it's actually good to get blood flowing.
Wednesday evening roundup
I did not know that in 30 states, rapists have custody rights. That's f*ed up.
Oh, I see: it's easy to confuse human women with Australian black field crickets.
The Guardian offers some brilliant commentary (some of which is already excerpted in the article above).
Some people have (birther and other) issues.
Meh. Notice that a guy wrote this (a gay one, at that). I can appreciate some of his general point (I do like shoes), but no, they don't make you more interesting. Really interesting shoes may, at worst, make you less mobile, and at best, draw disproportionate attention to your feet.
By the way, I had the 'flats' discussion with some friends at work (see yesterday's post) and everyone (including the guys) thought it was fine for women to wear flats on a date.
Oh, I see: it's easy to confuse human women with Australian black field crickets.
The Guardian offers some brilliant commentary (some of which is already excerpted in the article above).
Some people have (birther and other) issues.
Meh. Notice that a guy wrote this (a gay one, at that). I can appreciate some of his general point (I do like shoes), but no, they don't make you more interesting. Really interesting shoes may, at worst, make you less mobile, and at best, draw disproportionate attention to your feet.
By the way, I had the 'flats' discussion with some friends at work (see yesterday's post) and everyone (including the guys) thought it was fine for women to wear flats on a date.
Wednesday morning roundup
DC's Ethiopian diaspora community parses Meles' death.
Anne Applebaum writes that the nature of dissent in Russia has changed.
Think of massive food waste not only as an abomination in its own right but in the context of the argument that we need industrial agriculture to feed the world. Or, as Mark Bittman puts it, feed our junk food and cheeseburger habit."
It hardly needs to be said that there are two Virginias.
Capitol Hill loses a beloved, homeless personality.
Kathleen Parker points out that a lot of men don't really understand women.
I find all but one of these homes (ironically, the least expensive) unappealing.
Anne Applebaum writes that the nature of dissent in Russia has changed.
Think of massive food waste not only as an abomination in its own right but in the context of the argument that we need industrial agriculture to feed the world. Or, as Mark Bittman puts it, feed our junk food and cheeseburger habit."
It hardly needs to be said that there are two Virginias.
Capitol Hill loses a beloved, homeless personality.
Kathleen Parker points out that a lot of men don't really understand women.
I find all but one of these homes (ironically, the least expensive) unappealing.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Day six (sans the third molars)
I believe I discussed yesterday the pitfalls of relying on the internet for information. It's not the internet, per se, that is the problem; it's the prevalence, in any search, of discussion groups (rather than sites by dental experts). You can make yourself crazy and get a lot of bad information, if you choose to believe it. I do find user groups amusing. I think I've blogged about how, with every question that someone posts online, there are people who feel the need to respond in a way that is not helpful. For example, ages ago, I looked up recommended soak times for plumping raisins and was amused to find one person who responded to such a query to say that, the asker doesn't really want to do that; no one really plumps raisins anymore. Well, I do. But I digress. With regard to wisdom tooth extractions, far too many responses to any question are, "check with your dentist." Why thank you, genius! Why didn't I think of that?
All that said, there is some useful information to be had, even online. Sometimes even in discussion groups, when the responders are dental professionals or people who've had extractions, rather than people who have nothing better to do than troll these groups and say "ask your dentist." Of course, they have a point: everyone is different, so there's little value in pinpointing how much something should hurt a given number of days later. But it's helpful to get a general idea. Another thing about general guidelines: it may be useful to check out suggestions for when to move on to increasingly solid food, but what I've learned is that you'll kind of know. Your own level of pain will guide you as to when you're ready to take on foods that require a little more chewing. Of course, you can only trust your own level of pain once you're off the painkillers. Another noticeable change: I still feel the need to rinse with water and baking soda (or salt) after every meal (and I should), but two days ago I felt the need to rinse after every bite.
But back to the topic of the blessing and curse that is the internet, through which I determined that I do not have dry socket, not by effectively showing me what dry socket looks like, but by making me understand that it apparently sucks one's will to live. Although I'm still experiencing some residual discomfort, my will to live is well intact, so I guess those blot clots must be in place.
I'll continue the soft-only diet through Thursday morning (when I have my one-week follow-up appointment). I moved on from mush-only yesterday, when I had injera (and other Ethiopian food, the most solid of which was green beans). I had some soft pasta today, and I wasn't frightened by any non-pureed chickpeas that appeared in my hummus. Maybe I'll even move on to whole chickpeas on Thursday, when I run out of hummus and may be too lazy to make more. I do miss my oatmeal (the beta-glucans in which, incidentally, are supposed to be good for helping one heal). Maybe I'll pick some up tomorrow.
All that said, there is some useful information to be had, even online. Sometimes even in discussion groups, when the responders are dental professionals or people who've had extractions, rather than people who have nothing better to do than troll these groups and say "ask your dentist." Of course, they have a point: everyone is different, so there's little value in pinpointing how much something should hurt a given number of days later. But it's helpful to get a general idea. Another thing about general guidelines: it may be useful to check out suggestions for when to move on to increasingly solid food, but what I've learned is that you'll kind of know. Your own level of pain will guide you as to when you're ready to take on foods that require a little more chewing. Of course, you can only trust your own level of pain once you're off the painkillers. Another noticeable change: I still feel the need to rinse with water and baking soda (or salt) after every meal (and I should), but two days ago I felt the need to rinse after every bite.
But back to the topic of the blessing and curse that is the internet, through which I determined that I do not have dry socket, not by effectively showing me what dry socket looks like, but by making me understand that it apparently sucks one's will to live. Although I'm still experiencing some residual discomfort, my will to live is well intact, so I guess those blot clots must be in place.
Tuesday evening roundup
The Onion is not mincing words. Wow. See also here and especially the third opinion here. But the Onion has competition: see the best tweets on the topic and this graphic. Also check out this poorly-written but on-point piece. Finally, the image on HuffPo's front page but not in the associated article reminds ladies to keep those metal clothes-hangers handy.
A moving photo essay--actually, just a segment of Walter Astrada's more comprehensive album--that associates faces and places with the apparently misunderstood concept of violence against women.
Moving on to lesser douche bags (i.e., of the Date Lab variety), what's wrong with flats?? Jezebel has some choice words on the matter. I love it:
Now then, on a happier topic: Molly Ringwald's reflections on writing.
A moving photo essay--actually, just a segment of Walter Astrada's more comprehensive album--that associates faces and places with the apparently misunderstood concept of violence against women.
Moving on to lesser douche bags (i.e., of the Date Lab variety), what's wrong with flats?? Jezebel has some choice words on the matter. I love it:
I can't believe we're even still having this conversation, but dudes, LISTEN: Women's bodies, even ones into which you get to stick your penis, are not yours. Women have the right to be gross, to have hair, to be slow, to put on make-up, to not put on make-up, to wear fake eyelashes, to smell good or bad, and to be human beings. Women are not your dog our your lawn or your living room, you do not get to prune and groom and design us, and negotiating things like hygiene and style within a relationship is a matter of mutual respect. My right to do my own nails does not stop where your personal boner for trimmed cuticles begins.
Also, women: If you are single, it is not because your fake eyelashes are too bushy or Kevin doesn't like cucumber lotion. This shit is an oppressive waste of your time. Here's my new beauty tip for everyone on earth: Go read a book or something.
Now then, on a happier topic: Molly Ringwald's reflections on writing.
Tuesday morning roundup
Israel is dealing with a serious, violent, racism problem. In other Israeli news: politicians use rhetoric to push for a higher defense budget.
Pakistan is not dealing with its religious violence problem.
Burma (still) has a political prisoner problem. But they are easing up on censorship.
India blames the internet.
Somalia seats most of a parliament.
Is Ciudad Juarez's peace, Pyrrhic?
Eve Ensler has a point about who shouldn't be making decisions about women's reproductive health.
Look! A brave, principled politician in a sea of the opposite.
Pakistan is not dealing with its religious violence problem.
Burma (still) has a political prisoner problem. But they are easing up on censorship.
India blames the internet.
Somalia seats most of a parliament.
Is Ciudad Juarez's peace, Pyrrhic?
Eve Ensler has a point about who shouldn't be making decisions about women's reproductive health.
Look! A brave, principled politician in a sea of the opposite.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Monday evening roundup and ramble
Sleeping pills do very little other than mess with your body.
I have to admit, I don't understand why some of this stuff is considered bragging. Then again, I'm not on Facebook; I gather that if you are, you're setting yourself up for hearing other people share this stuff. I think someone expressing appreciation for the 'best birthday gift from the best husband ever' is just sweet; I doubt the accused is actually out to empirically designate her husband the best ever, and if she is, good for her: let her (him) set a high standard. I feel like people who complain about that kind of thing are the same people who complain about how their friends' weddings make them feel pathetic. If you can't feel happy for the people in your life and celebrate meaningful events with them without making it about you, the problem is you and not your friends. For those about to accuse me of hypocrisy, since you've heard me complain about parents who brag about their kids, keep in mind that I was talking about a certain set of bragging parents. I care about my friends' kids, and they don't brag so much as share. There's a difference between a friend sharing in a positive moment or a child's epiphany, and someone you barely know lecturing you about how brilliant her kid is (and yes, I've been a victim of the latter, more than once).
***
On Day 5 sans wisdom teeth, I went to work for the first time and even did a light workout. I felt like I had to: I wanted to feel my muscles move, after four days of lounging around. As far as I can tell, nothing (i.e., no blood clots) budged during the workout.
I have to admit, I don't understand why some of this stuff is considered bragging. Then again, I'm not on Facebook; I gather that if you are, you're setting yourself up for hearing other people share this stuff. I think someone expressing appreciation for the 'best birthday gift from the best husband ever' is just sweet; I doubt the accused is actually out to empirically designate her husband the best ever, and if she is, good for her: let her (him) set a high standard. I feel like people who complain about that kind of thing are the same people who complain about how their friends' weddings make them feel pathetic. If you can't feel happy for the people in your life and celebrate meaningful events with them without making it about you, the problem is you and not your friends. For those about to accuse me of hypocrisy, since you've heard me complain about parents who brag about their kids, keep in mind that I was talking about a certain set of bragging parents. I care about my friends' kids, and they don't brag so much as share. There's a difference between a friend sharing in a positive moment or a child's epiphany, and someone you barely know lecturing you about how brilliant her kid is (and yes, I've been a victim of the latter, more than once).
***
On Day 5 sans wisdom teeth, I went to work for the first time and even did a light workout. I felt like I had to: I wanted to feel my muscles move, after four days of lounging around. As far as I can tell, nothing (i.e., no blood clots) budged during the workout.
After the workout, I caught up with a friend in the locker room.
We talked about getting older in general, and in particular, going gray and seeing our facial structures
change. I told her about the part of “Celeste and Jesse Forever” where Celeste describes the woman she sees her ex with as “a younger me.” To which my friend said she'd heard about the film but was wary, because of the very review I discussed on these pages yesterday. I told her that the film was cute and funny, but yeah, the message that the woman had to try harder to accommodate the man-child in her life, as Ann Hornaday impeccably phrased it, was disturbing. I'd like to think that maybe the message was that they both should have tried harder, but that we see the toll on the female protagonist because women tend
to take more responsibility, engage in more self-blame, when relationships go
bad.
I think I've written about how the biggest issue with a lot of dating advice out there is that it's geared to women from the perspective that men will be boys, and it's up to us to accommodate their bad behavior. If we freak out because they're putting us in a position to freak out, we're not understanding men's nature and we're threatening the relationship. Well, who started the cycle?? More importantly, why is it on us to manage it? Maybe--as I also wrote on these pages, as another friend just reminded me--that relationship was doomed, so why give women a complex about how they killed it because they didn't adequately read the male mind? You, my readers, offered that priceless wisdom when I was banging my head against the wall over the relationship advice I was getting: pay it no mind, because it won't matter with the right guy, in the right relationship.
My friend at the gym talked about how “I should just try harder” runs into natural limits; it only makes you crazy. I told her about the epiphany I had many years ago, a year after I got out of a dead-end relationship, months (of trying harder) later than I should have. The epiphany hit as Jay and I were hiking on Mt. Charleston, outside of Vegas. We thought we were on a promising trail and kept trying different paths that we thought were the continuation of the trail. We tried and tried and tried, but never got anywhere. It turned out that we had taken the wrong trail head, and so no path would have gotten us on the right track. How analogous: when you're in the wrong relationship, the whole relationship is a maze of wrong ways; no amount of trying will get you on the right track.
In my case--the more recent one--trying harder not only kept me stuck, but made things worse. Trying harder manifested itself in convincing myself that I was at peace with things I couldn't actually accept. This made me feel like I was sacrificing, which, in turn--and perhaps this was going on on both sides--skewed the proverbial half-way point, and the frustration of sacrificing without being met remotely half-way, I later saw, brought out bad behavior (but in fairness to me and fidelity to the topic, the other person's bad behavior also brought out my bad behavior). In the end, trying harder—and the strain it put on me, and the outward manifestations of that strain—ended the relationship in its own way, because the relationship was bound to end. It was the wrong path. And so was Celeste's. I can see how her pain would have had her think, "I wish I had fought for it," but she had to know that no amount of fighting for it, would have fixed it.
I think I've written about how the biggest issue with a lot of dating advice out there is that it's geared to women from the perspective that men will be boys, and it's up to us to accommodate their bad behavior. If we freak out because they're putting us in a position to freak out, we're not understanding men's nature and we're threatening the relationship. Well, who started the cycle?? More importantly, why is it on us to manage it? Maybe--as I also wrote on these pages, as another friend just reminded me--that relationship was doomed, so why give women a complex about how they killed it because they didn't adequately read the male mind? You, my readers, offered that priceless wisdom when I was banging my head against the wall over the relationship advice I was getting: pay it no mind, because it won't matter with the right guy, in the right relationship.
My friend at the gym talked about how “I should just try harder” runs into natural limits; it only makes you crazy. I told her about the epiphany I had many years ago, a year after I got out of a dead-end relationship, months (of trying harder) later than I should have. The epiphany hit as Jay and I were hiking on Mt. Charleston, outside of Vegas. We thought we were on a promising trail and kept trying different paths that we thought were the continuation of the trail. We tried and tried and tried, but never got anywhere. It turned out that we had taken the wrong trail head, and so no path would have gotten us on the right track. How analogous: when you're in the wrong relationship, the whole relationship is a maze of wrong ways; no amount of trying will get you on the right track.
In my case--the more recent one--trying harder not only kept me stuck, but made things worse. Trying harder manifested itself in convincing myself that I was at peace with things I couldn't actually accept. This made me feel like I was sacrificing, which, in turn--and perhaps this was going on on both sides--skewed the proverbial half-way point, and the frustration of sacrificing without being met remotely half-way, I later saw, brought out bad behavior (but in fairness to me and fidelity to the topic, the other person's bad behavior also brought out my bad behavior). In the end, trying harder—and the strain it put on me, and the outward manifestations of that strain—ended the relationship in its own way, because the relationship was bound to end. It was the wrong path. And so was Celeste's. I can see how her pain would have had her think, "I wish I had fought for it," but she had to know that no amount of fighting for it, would have fixed it.
Monday morning roundup
Satire makes inroads in Saudi Arabia.
The National Parks are hurting.
The Akin comments are just a really sad reflection of how ignorant people can be.
The National Parks are hurting.
The Akin comments are just a really sad reflection of how ignorant people can be.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Wisdom food
I'm not going to lie to you: it's been rough. I'm probably as well positioned as anyone to make post-extraction food, but I still miss the solid stuff. I miss the pasta--which, theoretically, I could have as soon as tomorrow but I don't want to tempt fate. When you've got the internet to feed your paranoia about the chances of dry socket, you don't want to take any chances. What I could probably do is get back on oatmeal, but I ran out and I have another few days' worth of breakfast smoothies prepared. I do miss the chocolate, the pistachios, the peanuts, the tempeh. Oh, and I really miss the wine, but that's going to have to wait until I'm off the antibiotics.
So, here's what I've made to tide me over until the holes where my wisdom teeth were, heal:
Smoothies. On day 1, it was all smoothies. You can use either soy or coconut milk (if coconut, which is all I had at the time, mix in some protein powder; I use Garden of Life Raw Protein). My understanding is that even if you're not a vegan, you probably want to stay away from cow's milk. I mean, particularly if you've had your wisdom teeth pulled. If you used soy and you want some more fat, toss in some ground flax seeds. Anyway, you have your milk and your thickener; add some cacao powder if you wish, and then toss in some fruit. I switched it up, with various combinations of farm share yellow watermelon, while it lasted; orange; banana; and papaya. Don't use anything with small seeds that you can't remove, like most berries.
Chowder. I'd previously roasted the farm share veggies, so I blended the roasted potatoes, zucchini and squash, a little bit of fennel, and leek. And added some raw corn. The leek was of questionable judgment--great for flavor, but a bit stringy for day 2. It was okay by day 3. Oh, I also added brown rice and coconut milk.
Gazpacho. Blend (organic, preferably farm share or farmer's market) tomatoes, cucumber, basil, and just a splash of sherry vinegar.
Lentils. I cooked some red lentils with onions and tomatoes. They came out very soft and didn't require additional blending.
Dips. Hummus, baba ganoush, and guacamole. I'd made the first two before the surgery, and the third takes seconds.
Sweet potato pie filling. Mashed sweet potatoes, coconut milk, cinnamon, and a pinch of garam masala.
Tofu. I finished the tofu scramble I'd made the previous week--definitely a day 3 and later food--but then made tofu ricotta (process a pound of tofu, a few cloves of garlic, some olive oil, and oregano) and blended in some peas and lemon zest, as per Heidi Swanson's plump pea dumpling recipe.
***
This sounds like a lot of food, but I haven't had the appetite to eat a lot of any of it at a time. I just had a lot of the ingredients already (some already partially prepared) and felt the need to mix it up. The first day especially, I really had to force myself to eat, partly because you can't take penicillin or large doses of ibuprofen on an empty stomach, but also you need to keep the nutrients coming in order to heal. And you'll note that the above foods are a good mix of macro- and micronutrients.
So, here's what I've made to tide me over until the holes where my wisdom teeth were, heal:
Smoothies. On day 1, it was all smoothies. You can use either soy or coconut milk (if coconut, which is all I had at the time, mix in some protein powder; I use Garden of Life Raw Protein). My understanding is that even if you're not a vegan, you probably want to stay away from cow's milk. I mean, particularly if you've had your wisdom teeth pulled. If you used soy and you want some more fat, toss in some ground flax seeds. Anyway, you have your milk and your thickener; add some cacao powder if you wish, and then toss in some fruit. I switched it up, with various combinations of farm share yellow watermelon, while it lasted; orange; banana; and papaya. Don't use anything with small seeds that you can't remove, like most berries.
Chowder. I'd previously roasted the farm share veggies, so I blended the roasted potatoes, zucchini and squash, a little bit of fennel, and leek. And added some raw corn. The leek was of questionable judgment--great for flavor, but a bit stringy for day 2. It was okay by day 3. Oh, I also added brown rice and coconut milk.
Gazpacho. Blend (organic, preferably farm share or farmer's market) tomatoes, cucumber, basil, and just a splash of sherry vinegar.
Lentils. I cooked some red lentils with onions and tomatoes. They came out very soft and didn't require additional blending.
Dips. Hummus, baba ganoush, and guacamole. I'd made the first two before the surgery, and the third takes seconds.
Sweet potato pie filling. Mashed sweet potatoes, coconut milk, cinnamon, and a pinch of garam masala.
Tofu. I finished the tofu scramble I'd made the previous week--definitely a day 3 and later food--but then made tofu ricotta (process a pound of tofu, a few cloves of garlic, some olive oil, and oregano) and blended in some peas and lemon zest, as per Heidi Swanson's plump pea dumpling recipe.
***
This sounds like a lot of food, but I haven't had the appetite to eat a lot of any of it at a time. I just had a lot of the ingredients already (some already partially prepared) and felt the need to mix it up. The first day especially, I really had to force myself to eat, partly because you can't take penicillin or large doses of ibuprofen on an empty stomach, but also you need to keep the nutrients coming in order to heal. And you'll note that the above foods are a good mix of macro- and micronutrients.
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