For years now, Michael Pollan has become the authority on the relationship that human beings have to food in the modern mechanized, industrial world. He has written on gardens, the inter-relationship between specific plants and their human users, the food systems that operate in our world, the ethics of our diets and the deeper meanings behind our cooking traditions. In short, he has become one of the most influential authorities on what we put in our stomachs. In the process he has helped foster a whole new approach to food that has manifested in artisenal pickle shops, kombucha in every store, and a renewed focus on locality in our food
I live in an area of the country that experiences four traditional seasons. Of those four, my favorites are Spring and Fall. I love everything about these transitional seasons—the mild weather, the changing light, the start of garden season on one end and the height of its bounty at the other. (Even if they do only seem to last for about a week here in eastern North Carolina.)
That is, I love these seasons, but my sinuses do not. I've got horrendous seasonal allergies that flood my head with histamines twice a year, to the point where I really should invest in a giant hypoallergenic vinyl bubble to seal myself off in from April to July. Also, the change of seasons seems to kick the butts of everyone's immune systems, and I always inevitably catch what everyone's passing around.
Are you in the same club? I got something for what ails you, and it goes by the name of Head Tea.
I've got it. The crud, I mean. A virus, a winter illness, that thing that makes you ask, "Is it a cold? Is it a flu? Am I dying?" It's been over three and a half weeks, and no matter how many cups of tea I drink, or how much I allow myself to sleep, I can't shake it.
Whether you're trying to uphold a resolution for 2013 or just need a little more swear words as you check out the nutritional value of various foodstuffs, you should check out "Should I Eat This $#!*"
I'll never forget the first time I saw my dad with a clump of toilet paper stuck to his face. It was a Saturday, a day he usually worked, and we were at home getting ready for some formal occasion...I think a wedding, or perhaps a funeral. I was watching The Jetsons in the living room, and here comes my dad, all clean and shiny, in his Sunday best, with not one but three little white mounds with a bright red center on his chin. I immediately ran to my mom to find out what in the world was going on.
For three years, grades K-2, I got away with it. At least weekly, I'd come up behind my friend Zach and whisper, "You're epidermis is showing." He'd become frazzled, and run to the bathroom. He tried to ask his parents what-in-the-world I was talking about, but he could never remember the actual Greek word once he got home. And I guess they weren't hip enough to know the joke setup.
Today's is the first sunny, snow-free day we've had since November. Don't get me wrong, it's only 34° F out there, but I don't care. I can see the grass, albeit khaki, and the sun. On the same day. Hallelujah.
So, I'm already scheming about how I can get outside. Anyone that knows me can attest that I'm not much of an athlete, and I'm a total wreck with a basketball, but I'm a pretty active cyclist, and certainly have been jonesing for the roads to clear so I can ride.
And, in 2011, even the most natural of tasks like using our muscles to move around can take a technological spin. On a bike ride, I have a digital, wireless bike computer that tells me how fast I'm going and keeps track of other stats. And when I'm not riding on the trail, I use GPS on my phone to track my route, elevation, speed, etc. So, while sometimes technology can hinder your desire to get exercise (looking at you, Netflix), it also has the potential to improve it greatly.