Let's talk for a minute about vegan cheese, shall we? 

Specifically I would like to talk about Daiya vegan cheese, a self-proclaimed "dairy-free dream come true ... that delivers the bold flavor, stretch and texture of cheese without compromise."

It does stretch when melted, that is true. 

And the flavor is bold.

It's just not bold in the way cheese is bold. It's bold in the way Jeffrey Dahmer was bold. Like I am evil and crazy and now I'm going to kill you and have sex with your dead face bold. 


This cheese? Is very, very not good. 

Like, VERY not good. 

I have tried it in both the "cheddar" and "mozarrella" varieties and both times I was thankful that I am a vegan, because if I'd tried to put that shit on a burger, the patty would have RISEN FROM THE DEAD and run shrieking from my plate. 


Very not good.

But not to worry. I boarded the vegan train knowing they didn't serve cheese--so this is no big loss. I still plan to try the homemade raw nut "cheeses" (and I will report back), but for now I'm more than content in my cheese-free existence. 

Have any of you tried Vaiya's "cheese products" and found them to be a viable cheese substitute? If so, perhaps I can interest you in my Virtual Vegan Meatball of the Month Club. I am passionate about creating virtual vegan meatballs that are soy-free, gluten-free, dairy free, and animal free. Delivered right to your inbox every month. No long-term contracts. Cancel any time. 

My apologies for not linking to the recipes I mentioned in the last post. So far, I've used two online resources to take me beyond simple salads.

My first discovery was This Rawsome Vegan Life. Nearly all of my first attempts were pulled from her recipes. (She's only like 20 years old, too. Pretty amazing.)

These are the Fudgy Raw Brownies I raved about. Not exactly low-cal, but healthy nonetheless. (Just prepare your mind and taste buds for something unique -- you can't go into this expecting them to taste like Duncan Hines. The main ingredient is Peanut Butter, not magic.)

The blog's author--oh, hell, let's call her by her name, which is Emily--also inspired me to purchase a spiral vegetable slicer (LOVE. IT.), which I've used to make sweet potato and zucchini "noodles". Here's her Zuke Mac N Cheese (again - don't expect Kraft dinner here - it's a whole different thing. But it's good stuff.) Even tastier (in my humble newbie opinion) are her Yam Noodles with Miso Sauce. Larry ate it as leftovers the next day, and loved it. 

Then, of course, there is the mysterious and powerful wormholewonderful world of Pinterest to explore. I  forfeit countless hours of productivity search for vegan recipes and see what looks good (and also matches the ingredients I have in the house). 

On New Years Eve I made this Chickpea Tikka Masala, which was a hit. I want to try it on raw sweet potato noodles instead of rice sometime. 

Last night I made Quinoa Black Bean Chili. I didn't have vegetable broth, so I substituted a cup of organic tomato sauce and water. (I also made the Quinoa ahead of time, because I had been planning to make something else. If you do this, you can just add it in cooked at the end and skip heating the whole thing for 25 minutes). Flavor-wise it wasn't as zingy as I wanted it to be (I like a good tang), so I added a splash of Frank's Hot Sauce and that did the trick. 

So. There you have it.

I'm going to go now, because I hardly recognize myself anymore (recipe links? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH AMANDA?)

Happy experimenting. 

It was an odd year of reading, I'll be honest. I abandoned dozens of books mid-way through, not because they were bad, necessarily (though some were), but because I needed something different at the time. And while there were some definite winners, others I begrudgingly finished because they were okay, I guess, in spite of their flaws. Here's the rundown:

1. A Gate At the Stairs by Lorrie Moore The critics love Lorrie Moore. Read the reviews of this book and you can almost hear them climaxing at the end of every paragraph. Jonathan Lethem, writing for the New York Times Book Review:

I’m aware of one — one — reader who doesn’t care for Lorrie Moore, and even that one seems a little apologetic about it. “Too . . . punny,” my friend explains, resorting to a pun as though hypnotized by the very tendency that sets off his resistance. For others, Moore may be, exactly, the most irresistible contemporary Ameri­can writer: brainy, humane, unpretentious and warm; seemingly effortlessly lyrical; Lily-Tomlin-funny. Most of all, Moore is capable of enlisting not just our sympathies but our sorrows.

Make that two--two--readers, Jonathan. Moore is brainy, definitely. Humane, I suppose. Unpretentious and warm? Lily-Tomlin funny? Capable of enlisting our sympathies? I must be missing something. I didn't connect with the narrator and the couple at the center of the story (for whom the narrator works as a nanny) is harboring a dark and truly horrifying secret that's revealed so late (after they prove themselves to be miserable, grossly self-centered people) that it was difficult for me to see their humanity. But I'm not the brightest bulb on the artificial Christmas tree, so enlighten me. If you loved this book-or think I should revisit Lorrie Moore--tell me what her writing makes you feel. It makes me feel like I'm standing in an eclipse. 

2. Daring Greatly by Brene Brown Brene Brown can do no wrong in my eyes. (Except maybe when she talks about feeling your feelings. Why must we all speak of feeling our feelings? Can't we just, you know, feel? It makes me want to vomit so much less.) If you ask me, Jonathan Lethem's description of Lorrie Moore suits Brown perfectly. Brainy, humane, unpretentious and warm ... Lily Tomlin funny. Capable of enlisting sympathies and sorrows. And she writes non-fiction. "Self-help" without the ugly cover graphics and goofy youkenzdoitgirlfriend-ness. If you've ever struggled to embrace your imperfections, this book will give you some perspective. If you haven't, you should write a book. 

3. The Antagonist by Lynn Coady Okay. This one was good. A recommendation from Ann Patchett (on her blog, that is). I'm a big fan of epistolary novels and the premise of The Antagonist was especially interesting. The main character, "Rank", discovers that an old friend from college has published a novel that borrows liberally from the events of Rank's own traumatic past. Feeling betrayed and misrepresented, Rank tells his version of his story in a series of emails to the novel's author. He's funny, he's furious, he's damaged, he's surprising, he's sympathetic -- it's a ride. Worth reading. And quick. 

4. The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making by Catherynne Valen This was recommended to me by an old friend, who is brilliant in that way that she can afford to give herself over, body and soul, to fantasy fiction. If you believed in reincarnation you would consider her further along in lives than I am; and the wise have more room for whimsy. I'm still kind of an idiot and need my books to resemble my own reality more closely in order to reap their lessons. When I read fantasy fiction, I can’t seem to relax and go along for the ride. The writing in this novel is delightful—it reminded me of a more modern Alice in Wonderland (another story which makes me profoundly uneasy). If fantasy is your cup of tea—or your daughter’s—I say drink up.

5. Gone Girl Dude. This book was awesome. Chances are you’ve already read it, but if not, you’ll whip through it in a day or two. There was much debate about the ending. I, for one, found it completely satisfying. In fact, I’d venture to say it couldn’t have ended any other way. To say why would be a spoiler, but I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

6. Defending Jacob by William Landay After Gone Girl I wasn't ready for the suspense to stop, and someone recommended Defending Jacob. I picked it up at the airport and read it over the course of two nights. Fun, entertaining, suspenseful, surprise ending, the best that mass market paperbacks have to offer. Think: John Grisham meets Jodi Picoult. 

7. The 10th of December (stories) by George Saunders I don't typically read short story collections because, honestly, they bore the shit out of me. How can something so short take sooooooo loooong? I might get hooked by the first story and by the second I'm likealrightythenmovingon. Writing a short story is like performing a magic trick, and somehow George Saunders has managed to perform an entire magic show in The 10th of December. The guy is equal parts brilliant and humble. His insights are so striking and so well rendered through his characters, and yet he never sounds self-satisfied. If I was his self, I'd be pretty damn satisfied. 

8. The Clock Winder by Anne Tyler Is it just me or does Anne Tyler keep writing the same book over and over again, with different characters? Don't get me wrong, she handles her subject well, but her novels have such an unmistakable tone and theme (isolation/family)—it’s funny that I can keep them distinctly sorted in my mind. The Clock Winder is one of her early novels (maybe one of her first) and it definitely has a more old-fashioned flavor. I think that's what I liked about it. I found it at Goodwill, and it was like stumbling on an undiscovered classic. I really liked it. 

9. Where'd You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple Looking for a good time? Call Maria Semple. This novel (also epistolary) was somuch fun. Somehow, despite the fact that the whole thing is sort of whacky, it manages to hover in a genre somewhere between chick lit and literary fiction. I could identify with Bernadette's crippling anxiety--if not the lengths she traveled to avoid it. Most of my friends also loved this book, though my mother (who typically shares my taste in fiction) did not. She couldn’t find anything relatable. (And I’d be willing to bet that the protagonist allowing tree roots to grow up between her rotting floorboards was a bit of a turnoff.)

10. Insanely Simple by Ken Segall This was assigned reading for work. While it contained some interesting anecdotes about what it was like to work with Steve Jobs (Segall worked for Apple’s ad agency), it was hard for me to get past the irony of someone writing an entirebook about keeping it simple. The author could have taken his own advice and written a great article for Fast Company, but when opportunism knocks, I guess the businessman has to answer.

11. Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walters This one got a lot of attention this year—lots of critical acclaim—and I agree, it’s very well done. But it’s light, light, light vacation reading. Like reading a Hollywood blockbuster.

12. The Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving by Jonathan Evison I liked this while I was reading it—it was funny, well paced and stylistically up my alley—but the “terrible, awful” of the narrator’s past—which is the unseen engine that propels him--is so terrible and awful I couldn’t help feeling like it didn’t belong here in this unlikely buddy road trip story. It felt tacked on, as if an editor wanted Evison to take it to the next level, give it some gravitas, supply the TRAGEDY people crave.

13. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald This was my fourth reading of The Great Gatsby, and once again it was a completely different book. I read it in high school. Again in college. Again in my twenties. And now again at 38. It’s the damndest thing how this novel shapeshifts with every reading, and it gets better every time.

14. Orphan Train by Christina Baker Kline Loved it while I was reading it, but it didn’t dwell with me afterward. (I think that’s okay – not all books have to reside in your heart for eternity to be worth your time). Also (if you’ve read it, chime in) the main character’s decision at the end seemed totally unrealistic, given the specifics of her traumatic past.

15. Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson A young adult novel about the subject of rape. Award winning. Critically acclaimed. Justifiably so. If I had a teenage daughter (Gus does NOT count) I would share this book with her.

16. A Hologram for the King by Dave Eggers Hoo. Boy. I sure do like Dave Eggers. I sure did like Zeitoun. And I get this book. I do. It’s like Death of a Salesman meets Waiting for Godot in Saudi Arabia. But ugh … it just … dragged on and on and on (which I realize was thepoint but still) … ultimatelyit was too much subtlety to sustain me. I will say, Eggers paints a vivid picture. I envisioned William H. Macy as Alan Clay so much so it was like watching a film. A very slow independent film I would have raved about when I was in college.

17. Waiting to Be Heard by Amanda Knox I know. I KNOW. I couldn’t resist. I hardly ever read this kind of book, but I was just socurious. Like, how the hell did this happen, you know? And it’s astonishing to hear the details of her ordeal in her own words. What’s even more astonishing is how naïve she was, incriminating herself at every turn, when she was, undoubtedly, innocent. A thousand times I must have said out loud, OH. MY. GOD. STUPID, STUPID, STUPID. WHYYYY? And yet I really liked Amanda Knox in the end. And this book.

18. The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach Hands down my favorite book of the year. This was The One. Loved the writing, loved the characters, loved the story arc, did not want it to end. And I’m not even a baseball fan.

19. Wild by Cheryl Strayed Finally got around to reading this memoir (I’ve read her novel, Torch, and Tiny Beautiful Things, her book of advice columns from The Rumpus—both excellent, especially the latter). I know there were people (crazy, crazy people from Amazon comment land) who didn’t like this book—but they’re no one I know. It’s just an amazing story, beautifully told. I tweeted to Cheryl Strayed last year saying I loved Tiny, Beautiful Things in a Big Beautiful Way – Huge Goober of a fan. And she wrote back to thank me. (!!!) LOVE THAT WOMAN.

20. Letter to a Christian Nation by Sam Harris I got in a bit of a debate on Facebook about atheism and creationism and my younger cousin encouraged me to read this. She considers herself an atheist and, like Harris, questions religion and religious beliefs, and I have no issue with that, no issue at all with questioning. As long as I don’t have to do it with family, over Thanksgiving dinner. Harris’s writing is thought provoking, though I disagree with his position that religion is fundamentally flawed because it’s based on faith, as opposed to observable evidence. Religion is fundamentally flawed because people are idiots. WE are flawed. And because we are flawed there are things we don’t see and can’t know and it’s a healthy respect for the unseen and unknowable that I call faith. God, in my own simple estimation, is somewhere in the connections between people—that force that keeps this whole life thing from collapsing into a pile of shit. What keeps us from giving up on each other? What makes us want to be better people? What makes us long for connection? What is that? Do I think there’s a kind bearded man in the sky who loves me like a daughter and can’t wait to welcome me to his fancy kingdom with a Friendly’s Peanut Buster Parfait? I do not. But no one ever got anywhere by notbelieving in something, and (I think Harris actually agrees) atheism is an “anti” position that seems to have no purpose other than to say “I’m against what you’re for.” Okay. Now what? Good reading (and available free in PDF form online) if you’re interested in this subject. And a far less angry and condescending alternative to the late “antitheist”, Christopher Hitchens.

21. The Still Point of the Turning World by Emily Rapp I heard an NPR interview with Rapp, whose baby was diagnosed with and died from Tay-Sachs disease, a rare and always fatal genetic disorder. She’d published this memoir after his death, but it was written—originally in blog posts—when he was still alive. The result is a very raw account of events intertwined with (highly) academic reflections on various pieces of literature, which she used as sort of a coping mechanism and escape. In other words, it wasn’t cohesive in the way a memoir is when someone is looking back and reflecting on the past as a whole. That’s not a criticism, so much as a curiosity. I wonder what forces compelled Rapp to rush this story to print while her son was still alive. And I wonder how she’s doing now.

22. Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim and James LapineWhen Gus was cast as the narrator in Into the Woods, I’d never seen or read the play in full. We’d performed excerpts in college, but I had no idea how the story tied together. IT. IS. BRILLIANT. I read it over and over again. Of course, I love reading plays—and then seeing them live—and reading them again. It’s a totally different reading experience that I highly recommend.

23. Proof by David Auburn Since we’re on the subject of plays—I followed up Into the Woods by reading this one, which I saw years ago at Tennessee Repertory Theater. It’s one of the better known Broadway plays, thanks in part to Mary Louise Parker’s turn as Catherine on Broadway (and Gwyneth Paltrow’s in the movie adaptation), and the acclaim is well deserved.

24. The Likeness by Tana French BRILLiant. Brilliant. Brilliant. My second go-round on this one (because I forget what I've read, it was like reading it for the first time). Tana French has written the quintessential literary thriller. It’s a complex (but easy to read) page turner that is rich and smart and totally satisfying, unlike the highly processed airplane reads that are entertaining and all exactly alike.

There are others I’ve started but haven’t finished, so I’ll leave those to my 2014 wrap up. To see my roundups from past years, click 2012 and2011.

What were your favorites this year? 

In years past, I would have waited until the New Year to change my diet. What’s one more month of decadence and debauchery in the grand scheme of things, I’d reason. It’s the holidays. I want to enjoythem. With my mouth. 

This year, as you know, I decided to adopt a whole foods vegan diet about a month prior to Christmas. Intelligent people would advise against this for obvious reasons. Namely: that cheese plate is not going to devour itself. You have RESPONSIBILITIES.

On top of that, we were traveling to see family this year. Did I really feel like explaining my food choices at every gathering? Would people feel like they had to go out of their way to accommodate me? Would they be inwardly smirking, thinking this won’t last long. I bet she starts giving that gingerbread man mouth to mouth in 3 … 2 … 1 … And what does a plant-based vegan eat at gas stations and fast food joints during a 17-hour car ride?  And also? Pizza.

Paper hearts fly out of my eyeballs when I see pizza. And there wasdelicious, beautiful pizza on this trip. This whole plantsy shmantsy craziness was just ILL. ADVISED.

But I did it anyway.

I did it because I wanted to enjoy the time—not just the food. And it’s hard for me to enjoy the time when I just broke my pants.  

I did it because I wanted to wake up every day feeling healthy and comfortable in my own skin. As opposed to lethargic and ashamed and vaguely suicidal.

I did it because I have no off-switch when it comes to food, unless that food is whole food. (Of course, with plant-based whole foods, you don’t really need an off switch. You can knock yourself out – it’s all good.) 

I look at it this way:

If I were addicted to alcohol, and alcohol was destroying my physical and emotional health, people would encourage me to stop drinking.  

If I were addicted to drugs, people would tell me to stop taking drugs.

No one ever suggests you shoot heroin in moderation. But with food, moderation is the message from on high—and it doesn’t work. Not for me. 

When you’re addicted to something, moderation is deprivation. You’re deprived of the ability to fully enjoy food because you know you’ll either have to stop before you’re satisfied or suffer the painful consequences of overindulgence.

Knowing (as I do with a plant-based diet) that I can eat until I’m totally satisfied and improve my health at the same time is liberating.It doesn’t feel like restriction. It feels like freedom. And it’s life changing.

I may not be bouncing off the walls with glee about the way my thighs are shaped (like liberty bells, if we’re sticking with the freedom theme), but I can far more readily accept my body’s natural state if I know that this really IS its natural state.

In addition, the research I’ve been reading has convinced me that a plant-based vegan diet is the healthiest way to eat, not to mention more humane. (The China Study, in particular, is a book with no agenda other than to save lives – and it demonstrates an undeniable link between animal products, heart disease, and cancer. I highly recommend it if you’re interested in learning more.)

And a plant-based diet is not just salads, I swear.

I’ve turned sweet potatoes into raw noodles with peanut sauce, made raw brownies out of dates and nuts and cacao (that Gus and Larry both LOVED); last night I made “chicken” tikka masala with tofu and chick peas, and Larry asked me to make it again today. There’s STUFF, is what I’m saying. And it’s really good stuff. Tasty and satisfying and totally worth the effort. 

There were foods I thought I could never live without (CHEESE! for example), until I realized I wasn’t really living with them. I always had this nagging feeling when I was eating these foods that I was putting my life and health on hold.

This post brings to mind a moment in The Likeness (an awesome suspense novel by Tana French I just finished over the break) when the shit has hit the fan and the story's antagonist recalls the Spanish proverb: “Take what you want and pay for it, says God.” 

That feels more powerful than saying "everything comes with a price". It puts the decision in your hands. Take what you want. And pay for it.

For me the total cost of eating the old way is finally coming into focus.

The cost to my health—both physical and emotional.

The cost to the environment.

The cost to the cows and chickens and piggies. 

Add it all up, and I can’t afford it.

Bringing a vegan dish to a dinner party so the host doesn’t have to worry about feeding me, or ordering a salad at a pizza place and having to explain why I won’t have one tiny little piece, or listening patiently to lectures about how I need to get more protein from people who think vegetables are “weird” … these are much smaller prices to pay.

So that’s my story as I head into 2014, and (holy bananas!) I’m sticking to it.

What's in store for you? 

My pal and neighbor Justine (with whom I bonded over our love of bacon not so long ago) asked what a diet of vegetables, fruits, nuts, and seeds (and beans! I forgot to say beans!) looks like on the dinner table.

The short answer is this: it looks a lot like salad. 

I've always been a salad lover, and it happens to be one of the few meals I do well. My kids will also eat salad, though they're finicky about what kind of lettuce (the CRUNCHY kind) and what kind of dressing (ranch for Patrick, balsamic vinaigrette for Gus. I pick my battles, and salad dressing isn't a mountain I'm willing to die on. Yet.) So for now, we make the boys pasta or soup or fajitas or chicken fingers (baby steps) in addition to what we're having, so they can try it. If they dig it, great. If not, no big deal. I figure the more I expose them to new things, the more likely we are to hit on whole-food dishes they like (sweet potato "fries" with black bean dip, for example) and slowly (sneakily) transform their diet. If you've met boys,any boys, you'll probably agree the slow and steady strategy is for the best. 

I also have an edge in this endeavor because Larry's easy. He'll eat pretty much anything as long as it tastes good, and he likes the whole foods concept. If he wasn't on board, he'd cook something else (as he has done nearly every day of our marriage before now.) He's always been the head chef at our house, not to mention one who has been accommodating my dietary whims with grace and good humor for 17 years. So I'm pumped to be able to cook for him for a change--andhave the food not suck! Winning.

Okay. So dinner-worthy salads. 

The one pictured above was from two nights ago. It's a (slight) variation on the Garden Kale Salad from an awesome blog that I'm obsessed with called This Rawsome Vegan Life. The author is young and brilliant and inspring, and her recipes are simple and easy once you gather up all the ingredients. I'm trying to stock my kitchen with commonly called for items (nutritional yeast, coconut oil, almond milk, walnuts, miso, tamari, garlic etc.) so I don't have to start every culinary adventure at the grocery store. It's coming together.

So, recipes are cool - but most of the time with salads I just wing it. Larry is happy to make a vegan salad his whole meal as long as there's something in it that functions as "the meat". Healthful proteins like avocado, tofu, tempeh, chick peas, beans, or nuts take it from side dish to main course. That, and a flavor contrast so it doesn't just taste GREEN. I always include a fruit or two, like mango, pear, green apple, dried cranberries, chopped up raisins or figs to make the salad feel more complete. And homemade dressing. 
This is the Super Simple Vinaigrette Gus loves - and kind of our staple (though I'm branching out lately, like a woman possessed). 

1/3 C olive oil

1/3 C vegetable oil

1/3 C balsamic vinegar (or any vinegar you like)

1/4 C dijon mustard (or any mustard you like)

A couple shakes of salt and pepper and oh my god, I can't believer I have the audacity to blog about food.

It's ridiculous. And I want you to know that I know that it's ridiculous. And I fully expect people to point and laugh and say she's telling us how to make salads! And dressings! As if it's a "discovery". HOW ADORABLE. But, maybe it will inspire one non-cook like myself to explore a little. As I told Larry last night, putting whole foods together doesn't feel like cooking to me--and that's why I like it.

Cooking is stressful.

Cooking is impending failure if a recipe isn't followed to the letter.

Cooking is heat and timers and sauces bubbling over. 

Cooking is potentially poisoning your family with salmonella! 

Cooking is having to figure out how to make everything look good.

Working with whole foods, on the other hand, is flexible, fun, serendipitous, and almost impossible to screw up. (Not to mention the best possible thing you can do for your health.) And every meal looks beautiful because the ingredients are beautiful. It's like having a big bowl of Christy Turlingtons. Just try to make it look ugly.

NOT. POSSIBLE. 

So, this is where I'm at. Having fun. I hope it's not a turn off, because tomorrow I'm going to introduce you to the newest member of our family, Mr. Spiral Vegetable Slicer.

He's kind of a big deal.  

I became a pseudo-vegetarian in May of 2010 - not because I cared about the animals or the environment, but because I simply didn't like the way meat tasted. Hamburgers, chicken, turkey, veal, pork chops, duck, yuck. These were not happy flavors to me. Because I liked seafood and dairy and bacon and the occasional ham sandwich, I would eat those things. I was never especially interested in adhering to the label of vegetarianism, because I wasn't interested in what the label stood for. I was interested in not gagging.

That's changed.

I recently started thinking and reading and studying up on the plant based diet for this reason: I am addicted food. Some of you will not understand this (because you're not addicted to food) - but it's true. There are certain foods (cheese, bread, pasta, candy, cookies - basically anything processed) that once I start, I do not want to stop eating. Even if I'm totally stuffed, my body demands more and more and more to the point of distraction. Food is on my mind at all times, which means my brain is always multitasking. I'll be working on a project, concentrating hard, but the food devil is still there on my shoulder rattling a box of Good N Plenty in my ear.

I have tried everything over the years to change my relationship to food, and I lost about 20 pounds this year by religiously counting calories and running 50+ miles per week. But I realized that this was only substituting one obsessive behavior for another; it wasn't sustainable. I was still eating processed foods - just in smaller amounts. (Hence: always hungry). I ended up gaining half the weight back. 

I am really hesitant to write about this because I am very much at the beginning of this shift in lifestyle - but I wanted to put it out there in case anyone else has had a similar experience, and because so far - even after just 10 days on a whole foods, plant-based diet - I am experiencing something completely different than anything I've experienced before.

1. I'm only hungry when I should be. This is the first time IN MY LIFE that I haven't felt hungry all the time. I eat fruits and vegetables and nuts and seeds - mostly raw, with some organic soups here and there - and I get full, and then I don't think about food again until I'm actually hungry. 

2. I don't crave sugar and bread. This is huge. I take my kids to the bakery, and I don't want to smash my head through the glass and Hoover up all of the lemon squares. (So there's a safety benefit too). I do crave fruit, and I will require an anti-depression sun lamp when pomegranate season comes to an end. 

3. I just feel good. Lighter, less puffy, more calm (ask Larry about the Christmas tree lights and the episode of Cake Boss that happened in our kitchen), and more energetic. I've chucked the scale, and I'm not concerned with my weight, because I know I'm feeding my body the best foods for it. I trust it will balance itself out as soon as it can trust me not to electrocute it with a brick of cheese. 

While those three things are all the reason I need to shift toward a plant-based diet - I still wanted to put the diet into a more global context. I felt bad that I didn't feel bad about the animals. For some reason, even after watching documentaries like Food Inc. and reading books like Eating Animals, I wasn't moved to stop eating ham or eggs. The rational part of my brain understood that the practices of factory farming are morally repugnant , but the social part of my brain was like people's gotta eat and this is how we do, yo. 

This morning, I watched Vegucated, a documentary (free for Amazon Prime members, btw) that differs from the others not in content, but in tone. In place of smug superiority, Vegucated offers understanding, kindness, and a thoughtful, friendly presentation of information. Some of the content is painfully disturbing - but the maker of the film understands that I am smart enough to watch someone castrate a cow with no anesthesia and know it's wrong. I don't need the Psycho soundtrack playing in the background.

One thing that really stuck with me from the film: We adopted a carnivorous diet because it was evolutionarily advantageous to do so. It is no longer evolutionarily advantageous to eat factory farmed meat. It's killing us. It's destroying the environment. And we have access to plant based foods year round. All the more reason, right? 

I am not interested in debating the subject or trying to convince people who don't want to change. If you are passionate about tasty tasty animals, I can't condemn you - because I don't know what that feels like. I just noticed some very positive and immediate changes that I wanted to share - and sort of test the waters to see if anyone in this blog audience is interested in hearing more as I continue down this path. 

Who knows. A month from now, I may be blogging with my head in a box of macaroni and cheese. But wouldn't it be awesome if this were not a phase? If I kept feeling good and normal and not wishing the walls were made of cannoli? 

It would be so GREAT. 

Okay. So to make it even MORE fun (I know you were having a blast already) - how about we document this little journey with photos?

On the left, me - 10 days ago - puffy and bloated (and holding a Darth Vader doll).
On the right, me - this morning - no makeup, no filters, no fear. :)

1. I can't stand Monty Python. I can't stand that Monty Python is not a person, but a whole ensemble of people, not one of whom is capable of making me laugh. I am not ashamed that I thought Monty Python was a person until I was 35. Monty Python's humor makes me do the opposite of laugh. I hgual at Monty Python.

2. Ditto for Steely Dan. I can't stand that Steely Dan is not a person named Steely Dan, but a band that wastes their alleged musical gifts making elevator music. (Yes, I know what a steely dan is. Larry told me. But it still didn't help.) 

3. I desperately wanted freckles as a little girl, so I would scratch the skin around my nose to create what I thought was the illusion of freckles. I still have the scars to prove it.

4.When I was pregnant with Gus I sprouted freckles all over my nose. Victory!

5. The ultrasound reader told us Gus was a girl. We had six pink baby showers, a closet full of girl clothes, and a pillow that said Daddy's Little Princess. We planned to name him Emma Claire. 

6. Sometimes Larry and I call him Emma Claire behind his back when he's being a drama queen.

7. My father was born in Italy and moved to the United States when he was nine years old, not speaking a word of English. Now that I have a nine year old of my own I think I have a much greater appreciation for the monumental impact that transition must have had.

8. I have never broken a bone, or had braces, or had surgery, or been admitted to the hospital (outside of giving birth). (Knock on wood.) 

9. I failed my driver's test (the written part) the first time, because I was too cocky to study the book. 

10. The next time around I memorized the driver's ed book front to back and I remain, to this day, a smug and self-righteous traffic know-it-all. 

11. I will never understand people who think it's appropriate to criticize the name someone's chosen for their baby. It's a done deal, folks. YOU LOVE THAT NAME. And that is all.

12. Ditto for people who offer this backhanded compliment: "That photo (you chose for your profile bc you allegedly think it's pretty) isn't very flattering. You're much prettier than that." Uh ... Thank you? 

13. I am the opposite of a pack rat, and I'm not sentimental about objects, but I still have the stuffed baby ball I got when I was born and it drives me bananas when people INSIST that he's not the original, as if my parents replaced him like a dead goldfish every time he got lost. There have been numerous stand-ins for times of emergency, but there is only one Ricky Ballzer Court, people. And he lives in my bedroom closet. 

14. I consider the facebook friends i interact with regularly real friends, even if we don't hang out in "real life", and I'm always sort of surprised when they act like we've never met.

Our beloved dog Sean died unexpectedly last night, suffering what appeared (to my non-veterinarian eyes) to be a fatal heart attack. He had been diagnosed with heart disease two years ago, but otherwise seemed to be in great health. He was frisky and affectionate for an older guy - more affectionate than usual in the last month, now that I think of it (there were more than a few times Larry had to tell him who was whose) - and I really expected him to live at least another year or two. 

He'd been riding around in the car (one of his favorite pastimes) earlier last night; we went to pick up my brother from the airport, and to drop Gus off at the theater. It was windy and raining, which he hated, so I was happy he was with me, instead of pacing around the house in his Thundershirt.

And then, to top off the wind and rain and tornado sirens, it was Halloween.

Sean loathed Halloween. Could not understand how we could remain so calm in the face of all these ... WHAT THE F*CK ARE THEY? THEY'RE SHORT AND LOUD .. AND EACH ONE LOOKS DIFFERENT, SO THERE'S LIKE ZERO CONSISTENCY. AND (AND!) THEY'RE TAKING OUR STUFF!

Every time a new batch of trick-or-treaters knocked on the door, he would go completely insane, barking like a lunatic, rending his garments, and shaking his paws to the heavens, like it was the end of the world. Again.

So I have to hand it to him for for finally flipping the big furry bird to this loathsome chaotic holiday.

I am also enormously grateful for the way he died. At home. At night. With me (petting him and singing him his favorite song). Without extended suffering. Without us having to put him down or decide things. My brother (welcome to Nashville, Gordon! Isn't this fun?!) was with me. And he is a comedy writer, who could appreciate (and add to) my intermittent flashes of gallows humor as the night wore on. Gus and Larry got home from Into the Woods in time to say goodbye, which was sweet and beautiful and sad. And Patrick, mercifully, fell asleep without realizing what was happening.

As far as dying goes, Sean could not have done it better. He was the best dog, in life, and in death. And while I'm so sad I'll never smooch that furry face again, I'm so happy he was mine.

Love you, my sweet bat-eared boy.

Every year around Halloween, our friends Matt and Claire have a Monster Mashup party that is kind of a big deal. (Or so I tell myself, because it makes me feel pretty and popular.) Last year, feelingdangerously smug rather impressed with myself, I dressed up as Salvador Dali Parton, a costume into which I put embarrassing amounts of effort (not to mention embarrassing amounts of rolled up tube socks)--only to come face to face with ANOTHER (less busty and bedazzled and denimly jumpsuited and REAL-HAIR MUSTACHE PURCHASED ON e-BAYED) Salvador Dali Parton (not that anyone’s keeping score) (except me) (who = WINNER).  

Anyway, this year we were unable to attend the party because Larry was camping with Patrick’s Cub Scout troop (Cute Overload. Now, with 50% more Archery), and Gus was in Franklin, kicking all kinds of thespian ass as the Narrator in Studio Tenn’s Into the Woods, and I was the only person left with a driver’s license.  

(If you're in Nashville, YOU MUST, MUST, go see this play. Seriously. 
Amazeballs, as the kids these days say.)

But did my inability to attend the actual Monster Mashup party stop me from coming up with Monster Mashup costume ideas?

No. It did not.

It did not, and has not, and WILL NOT, and I am pretty sure I have contracted some kind of rare terminal brainstorming disease, because I. Can’t. Stop. And every time someone mentions an historic figure or fictional character or inanimate object, my brain insists (insists!) on trying to mash it up with something else.

Example. Patrick asks if he can watch Peter Pan, and I’m all sure baby, you can watch Peter PanHANDLER! BAM. DID IT AGAIN. FUCKYEAH I AM THE QUEEN OF THIS.

It’s a sickness.

My friend Justine texted me a day before the party, saying she couldn’t come up with any ideas, and I was all HERE, WANT SOME OF MINE? I HAVE EXTRAS WHICH I HAVE RANKED IN ORDER OF DIFFICULTY, LET US BEGIN!

She took Twisted Sister Wife and ran with it (in nude pantyhose and hideous black orthopedic shoes, I can only hope), and I felt momentarily happy and satisfied, but then I was all THERE IS A SAD EMPTY SPACE WHERE THE MASHUP USED TO BE.

MUST. FILL IT.

And the brainstorm started all over again.

Tinkerbellhop …

Marilyn Monrobot …

Swiss Miss Piggy …

Simon Cowlneck …

Captain HOOKER!

(I like that last one. Highly executable.) 

And never the (Mark) twain shall meet. 

Ugh.