Make sure to wear some flowers in your hair...

At any given time, somebody's internet tabs could probably tell their whole story--at least at that moment.  Right now, my tabs are Continental, a Google search for Haight Ashbury, another for "best vegan in san francisco" and the official Bart website (which is SF's version of the subway).  Though I never felt a pull towards the place,  I loved the movie Milk and went straight for the Castro.  I felt like I was in some 80s version of a grittier, gayer East Village.  It didn't help that I'd been in the EV just a week earlier, revisiting friends, stomping grounds, and memories.

They say LA is shallow.  I always stood up for it, until I realized that perfect weather, my newly acquired unsustainable Whole Foods habit, and flat brim hats on white boys are not typically found to exist in nature.  It's not really life to live in LA--at least after you've lived in New York.  The city (and you better know which city I mean by now when I say "the city") provides true characters, endless opportunities and hard winters that make us grapple with why we love it unconditionally.

But LA is just an empty canvas.  And I may have gotten that from a movie--but it's true.  It's an empty canvas that we all just throw our shit onto.  We smear it with hopes and rinse it off with endless nights out, the smug knowledge of the fact that we live in tropical weather (that we never enjoy--we being the 10% of people who actually work in LA), and mingle with the other 90% who either already made their money, or who think backup plans are for losers despite being an extra at 38.

Trailing through the Castro, I felt romantic.  Old Victorian looking apartments looked rundown but were wedged against quaint, welcoming cafes, with handsome young men selling vegan cookies to long-haired little boys, in awe of how you could make a pastry without eggs.

Basically, the nail is in the coffin.  I'm too selfish for LA.  I need my city to give me something.

Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair...

Being home for about 24 hours and getting right back on a plane made me realize I need more time out here to appreciate home again.  It's too hot back East anyway. And my memories are almost as good as the real thing.  I think that's why I only miss the feeling of New York...not actual places.  Those feelings, of family and good friends, will be with me always.  I took them back with me on the plane.

When I got home, I made this:

The ugliest bouquet, but it's my bouquet.

 I'm realizing that lots of things are ugly.  I just have to make them pretty again.

I'm the President's Son, I don't need no soul...

Tonight I took a trip.  I squished my cheap headphones all the way into my ears, shoved my keys, my ipod and a twenty in my pocket and set off for a walk.  All the way to New York.

I needed to see a place that was alive after dark.  As I grazed the shops of Abbot Kinney, some desolate, some wide open and some subtly winding down, I breathed a huge gulp of fresh air, more for my heart than my lungs.  I miss home and this was the closest thing to it.

But before this my friend Amanda and I had a dinner that one could only describe as better than sex (for our waiter did describe it as such).  The beet tagliolini to be precise.  The bass and the scallops were also not of this world, but then again, all of our hosts were off-the-boat Italians (the best kind of fob there is), and eager to put smiles on our "bellisima" faces.

During my walk I thought about this dinner.  How I feel so lucky to feel so healthy.  And to be able to eat things and appreciate them bite by bite, like I was appreciating each step of my walk.  I looked at everyone I passed straight in the eye until they smiled at me.  Call me creepy but that dude in the Dave Matthews "Everyday" video is onto something.  For as much as I complain, be it about the job, the fact that men are clowns, or my utter lack of financial freedom, I am pretty lucky to be alive, at the pinnacle of health and feeling good.  After all, my girl-crush of a Spin instructor told me I looked ripped today.  I thought I was going to fly off of my bike--the girl has Britney Spears' body, circa 1999.

I came back from my walk with a couple souvenirs.  I was tempted to stop into Other Room and get that delicious concoction they call Delirium Tremens, which essentially tastes like someone melted a stick of butter into the best IPA imaginable, but I deferred to the liquor store, where I emerged with Self magazine, a Zone protein bar, and some Trident.  I also stumbled into a medical cannibis establishment, which I only realized after oohing and aahing at the brownies and realizing they looked kind of like poo, as hash brownies often do.  I then somehow acquired a list of doctors who will prescribe me medical marijuana, if I so desire. 

On my way home, I thought about my Dad, and how excited I am to see him on Friday.  I thought about Ryan Dunn, who's gone now, after drinking and driving his car off a cliff.  I thought about where I'll be--or not be--in 3 more months, and I thought about walking down that very street, with a tall dark stranger beside me who I wouldn't have to say anything to, who would just get me.

And for once, I didn't wish for anything.

Recipe of the Week: Healthy Banana Coconut Chocolate Mousse

So this was a recipe from Domino Magazine that I put my own little twist on.  Mainly I made it healthier by lessening the "bad" ingredients.

This is what I did (note my changes):
-2 Bananas
-5 tbsp. coconut oil (buy a jar, it's worth the $11 at Whole Foods--the stuff smells like crack, is healthier and tastes better than butter, and is good for hair and skin...you'll never go back)
-3 tbsp cacao powder (this shit's hella expensive so I just bought vegan carob chips so I wouldn't house the entire bag like I would if I got regular baking chips)
-2 tbsp. Agave nectar (makes it sweet without the crash afterwards)

BLEND!

You can't do this with a cheap blender.  You either need an expensive blender or a food processor.  Cheering the blender on helps too.

Basically what this comes out to is a heavenly concoction of gelato consistency that tastes like banana, coconut and chocolate, but is about a million times healthier than chocolate mousse.  This supposedly yields 2 servings, but that's only if you're a 400 pound reckless diabetic.  It's so rich that I've gone at it for about 7 servings.  You can also put it in the freezer!!!!!!

FOR THE WIN!

Classy, Rich & Sweet

So, I think I may have unlocked the secret of life.  Or maybe just the secret to bypassing my midnight snack compulsion, which feels like solving the meaning of life!

Last night, when I got home at about 11pm, I was faced with the same dilemma that greets me after a couple beers and a fun night out.  The refrigerator saying "Merrrmmmmmm...open meeeee".  And every time, I have a mental row about it before finally succumbing, not even truly hungry, to various degrees of snackage, from leftover vegetables (not so bad) to spoonfuls of frosting dipped in a back of chocolate baking chips (bad).  I always feel guilty after this, because I wasn't even hungry to begin with, and also because eating shit right before bed is all around not a great idea.

Well, last night I did the same thing--up until the mental row part.  I decided I would feel significantly better about myself if I abstained from that unnecessary snack, and sure enough, I didn't die of hunger.  Far from it actually.  I did however wake up with a slight hangover after 2 beers and a wine spread out over 4 hours.  What an amateur.

I know I've been exhausting the food topic to death.  So I'll keep this one short.  But mainly I want to own a restaurant some day.  Really actually a bar that serves bangin food.  I know I would be a good bar tender (notice the intentional space there).

It's good to have goals.  I have to say: the thing I've loved most so far about this adventure is not knowing what in hell is coming next.

Until next time...I am in THIS kind of mood: Classy, rich, and sweet :)

THE CLEANSE, LAST DAY

SUCCESS!! (It's 12:17am but don't worry I'm not eating till tomorrow).

Tonight was the first night that watching Epic Mealtime didn't borderline turn me on.  To the contrary, it actually made me sort of sad and I couldn't really enjoy it, especially as I focused on the lack of gratitude those buffoons have for their food.  Not once are they like, "Wow, Baconator EggMcMuffin Pizza Lasagna, you are freaking delicious"--and they should.

Maybe it's because they are drunk and are just concentrating on not puking.  Which brings me to the next thing I realized:

It must epically suck to go sober.  I say this because I'm not even an alcoholic, and I enjoy booze so much--be it a sloppy hoppy beer, a glam rockstar vodka redbull kick, or a classy glass of wine--that I could not imagine life without it.  To rely on something so heavily that you go out of control to the point of rehab, only to have that TAKEN AWAY must be an abysmal realization. Means you were running from something worse than the rest of us.

Back to me, I got too cocky tonight.  The Hashers (hash.org) were all doing a bar crawl in Venice so I figured, it's my last night of the cleanse, why not bike over and say hi.  I was immediately offered 4 kinds of sausage and 3 different pitchers of beer, and I knew it was probably a mistake.  I didn't want to offend anyone, but Hashers are like Italians in that if you're not eating or drinking to excess in their presence, you must be unhappy.

Seeing them was nice--for the first 15 minutes.  Then the smell of bratwurst and the golden, crisped to perfection hashbrowns got to be too much. As was my moodiness which had managed to skyrocket in a matter of minutes upon entering the next bar and realizing that no one was going to stop offering me beer until I was drinking one--and that was not happening.  So I left.

Being able to have fun in a social situation where drinking is involved but I am sober is not something I enjoy doing.  I realize this makes me sound like an alcoholic.  But I'm not.  I would just prefer the ritual of holding the drink, even if it's just one, and feeling integrated with the group--not standing on the sidelines like a schoolgirl tattling on the cool kids for not including you in their game.

To wrap this up:
Pros of the Cleanse have been=deeper sleep, confidence that I can do pretty much anything no matter how uncomfortable, and a renewed appreciation for food; AND being super excited to try all these new healthy recipes like lentil burgers (thanks Jenn), banana pudding, healthy nachos, and homemade sushi!

Cons=I'm bored out of my motherf*cking skull.

I will of course be reporting in tomorrow when I figure out what it's like to chew again.  That is if I don't immediately throw up as YouTube will have me believe.  Granted these testimonials were Master Cleanse people after TEN days of not eating, but apparently a SIP OF ORANGE JUICE was enough to send one girl's stomach into fits of WHAT THE EFF ARE YOU DOING TO ME.

But we all know I have a stomach of steel so I am not worried.

Thanks for following me and--for those of you who have seen me clean a plate--having faith in me.

Until tomorrow...

THE CLEANSE, Day 2 (of 3):"Bacon gettin' freaky wit da cupcake apparatus"

Well, I'm not sure what to say.  I've just watched my 7th episode of "Epic Meal Time", which is basically a bunch of racially confused bros getting drunk and cooking the most delicious shit you can possibly imagine.  I've included YouTube screenshots below (hey, it's like I'm still at work).

Day 2 is down and I've come to realize two things.  One, food is a privilege.  To think that there are people who don't get to experience the ecstasy of a bacon cheeseburger, (or cheese slathered veggie nachos for all you vegetarians), truly saddens me.  I realize now that food should not be abused, taken for granted or consumed simply because it's there.  Doing any of these things is greedy.  And will probably make you fat.

I've also realized that Day 3 of a fast is probably the hump, and I now see why people are able to go like 17 days on the Master Cleanse.  Because once you've gone three--well, shit.  Keep goin! However, I've also come to the conclusion that these people are not Italian.

Although I will honestly say I have not felt hungry ONCE this whole time, I've been plagued by a sort of quiet nagging that says, Sam! Soon you'll be able to eat whateeeever you want.  And you'll have to be really disciplined so you don't undo all your hard work.  And sometimes it says, Sam! Make sure to eat a 1,500 calorie iHop burrito the SECOND this shit is over!

But I know better.  Though a small part of me is excited to be able to eat that stuff again, I also equally crave and look forward to avocado, fluffy lettuce ("Boston" technically, but I call it fluffy), and the prospect of MAKING SUSHI OMGOMGOMG.  I realized that all I need is ahi grade tuna and some seaweed wraps from Whole Foods! ChaCHING playa.

Maybe it's not food I miss, but the thoughts and feelings associated with it.  Any time I'm eating an extra stellar meal, it's usually because I'm out with friends (probably also drinking), rewarding myself for a long day, or preparing to go somewhere and having some alone time.  Either way, I've learned that I don't want to live my life without food as a central tenet--I will always be skewed toward the "live to eat" demo.


So why have I developed a twisted affinity for watching guys make and consume the most greasy food in existence? Not sure.  But it's the next best thing to eating it, and that's good enough for me.

Until tomorrow...