SomaCow

I am Geoff, a host of an internet radio talk show named SomaCow. I recently discovered I have Diabetes, and am struggling to come to terms with a multitude of issues, including obesity, anger management, cholesterol, fatty neck, zitty butt, and man-boobitis. Join me, as we attempt to pick us a winner, asking all the while, “Do You Want To Die?”

I got my first case of sticker shock the other day.

I am not sure if you follow the fear, but many people believe we are on the edge of a financial crisis. We will feel the impact of this impending cash inflation first at the gas pump, and second in the grocery store.

I am scared, because I caught a glimpse of the future, specifically, a future where healthy, sustainable food is out of reach.

I went to a higher end grocery store, often featured on cooking shows. I had never been, and wanted to see what it was like.

I was immediately blown away by the selection. Vegetable juice bar? Ninety-three kinds of fish, instead of five? An olive bar that takes up 200 square feet of space, containing MORE than just three kinds of olives?

Aisle after aisle, I was amazed at the selection. The cheese section alone took me twenty minutes to scan through!

I was overjoyed, because I had finally found a place that seemed almost custom tailored to my new way of eatliving! Need greens? They have eight kinds! Want a bread low in glycemic indices? They have TWENTY! All kinds of good fish, lean meats, grass fed beef, hormone free chicken, natural goat cheese, goat milk, fresh yogurt with no high fructose corn syrup! All the shit that will keep your body not just running, but SINGING!

Every price sticker tells where the food was grown, whether it is sustainable and produced soundly, and even differing colors to help you identify stuff in or out of season!

But, as the fever descended, and I saw what a grocer COULD be, my eyes trailed down those price stickers, to the actual, you know, prices.

A niggling doubt grew into a very real, stark realization for me. For all my love of food, for all my grill outs, seasonings, bulk-buying, recipe-extracting, dinner-fu, I had absolutely no business in this place.

I turned to Jen, and with a thick throat, I said, “I can not afford to shop here. Not even a little bit. I am so sorry, sweetheart.”

I should have stayed in college. I should have bought my house at a different time. We should have saved more, invested more, tried harder. Because for us, Publix was as high as it gets.

We actually need to downgrade, maybe hit some Aldi, keep up the meatbulk at Sam’s, and start availing ourselves of the produce stands that still exist on the north side of town.

I was getting a bit choked up. I bought some goat cheese ($6.00 for a 4 oz wedge), some beans and olives ($20.00), some organicy yogurt in a big ass glass jar for Rowan ($7.99) and a 7 lb. spaghetti squash on sale! ($7.00)

How to cook spaghetti squash? Simple!

Heat oven to 400 degrees

Stab forty tiny holes in the squash so it does not explode

Stick in oven for an hour, a quarter hour or so longer if it’s huge.

When you remove the squash, carefully cut it in half

Sift out the seeds. I think they are inedible, correct me if they are not.

Use a fork, shred the inner flesh away from the rind, and it will come off in little strands, like spaghetti!

At that point, you can do anything to it. Put sauce on it, put thai spices on it, do ANYthing. It is a delicious, healthy canvas upon which you may paint.

I went with some agave, red pepper, oregano, paprika, garlic, mustard, onion, coriander, cumin, and a bit of salt and it was WONDERFUL. If you like Pad Thai, this, maybe, could be the rice noodles in a Pad Thai-style dish one day.

Anyway, here was my hormone-laden chicken, starring next to my organic squash and sauce, and a lovely JenSalad, pesticide-enriched.

I finally have stopped crying, and am looking into a better food $olution. My research has pointed me back to a fascinating idea, which isn’t THAT new, but sure sounds good to me!

Food Co-Ops.

I am investigating several types, and signing up for all of them as fit.

There’s Shaolin Gardens, a local couple who grow produce. Here, you pay a rate up front and receive available produce fresh throughout the season.

There’s Farm Fresh Direct 2U, a farmer who will deliver (meetup style) on what you order, with the price being settled on the order at the time of transfer, due to weight and volume.

And there’s HomeGrown Co-Op, a clearing house where you place an order by x time, and it is delivered or pick-upable by a certain time, all locally grown here in Central Florida, with details on the producers!

Pickles!

Anyway, google your hometown and see what is available. What I immediately noticed is that the further you get from populated cities, the wider your available selection of fresh produce gets. Odd.

Local Harvest can help you find Co-Ops, as well!

Woke up with a blood sugar of 272 today, came home with a 174. My body continues to raid its extensive and vast cookie jar of fats overnight, marauding the samoas and peanut butter delights long ago tucked away. Good riddance. For all my glorifying of eating, I have always hated the fat that comes with it.

I must fast for some bloodwork tomorrow, and I am looking forward to it. As the pounds come off my body, I relish the loose clothes, the light step, and the almost smug, self-righteous feeling weight loss gives me.

So much about fat is worthless and strange to me. It physically binds you, constricting around your body and muscles so you cannot move. It clogs your arteries, so you cannot pump blood properly. It makes you less appealing to the opposite sex, limiting your procreation opportunities. It makes you sweat, and thus stink, more. It leads to more zits.

While it once might have indicated wealth and position, fat is now a sign of a troubled organism.

When I quit smoking, I often had to physically restrain myself from beating the shit out of other smokers. Not just because the smell makes me want to throw up, but because they were killing themselves. They were playing with poison, and forcing it in, slow and sure.

Do THEY Want To Die?

I bet they do, most of them.

Maybe that is why I want to grab them, and slap them, and force them to stop. Every time I see a smoker, and now, a fatter, I see a man or woman on a ledge, inching themselves toward oblivion. I wish they would step back from that ledge, my friend.

But they won’t. Not unless they decide to for themselves.

I keep looking for a picture at my “worst”. Fattest, whatever. This is a shot from March of this year. Please, do not show this to children:

Note the eyelids, weeping pus, starved of sleep. At this weight, I could not even pick up my daughter without wheezing. Check out the cheek skin, swollen and thick, asymmetrical and frightening. The greasy hair, the stinking clothes… Well, you probably cannot SMELL the clothes, but they smelled of sour sweat and stank ass cigarettes. This was me, locked into Chantix, and dying a quick death.

I want to hit him. He disgusts me. But I know he made the right decision.

Eventually.

 

 SomaCow 607: Feudal Family [58:32m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Originally pantsing at http://somacow.com

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