How is Kimberly healthy? [lady-style]

Little by little every single day I tried something new.

In 2006 I stopped drinking and doing drugs which at the time was necessary in order for me to live a more productive life. 

Let's face it, it was necessary in order for me to live - period. 

I did not realize this at the time, but the result was that I adopted other healthy lifestyle habits as a result.  Once I stopped pouring poison into my body I continued to smoke more than a pack of cigarettes a day. I figured I'd stopped doing something so epic that I needed "a vice." 

Well, I read a story about Raymond Carver, one of America's most celebrated short story authors.  He got sober around the same age as me, but died 10 years later of lung cancer.  It was a real wake up call that spurned my PAINFUL attempt to quit smoking - which was ultimately successful and I've been smoke free since 2007. 

But because I quit smoking, I turned to food. Around the same time I quit smoking, I got a boyfriend and started eating with him, plus I broke my arm really bad and the pounds just piled on. 

One day I couldn't button my fat pants and I don't think anyone would have looked at me and considered me obese. But I was 30+ pounds overweight, couldn't fit into a size 12 and I realized if I didn't make some changes, I was going to have a big problem on my hands.

So slowly - and I do mean slowly - I started eating right and exercising. The weight came off 1/8 of a pound at a time.  It was such a frustrating and emotionally difficult time because I didn't have any of my comforts left at this point - I didn't have alcohol, I couldn't take a magic pill, I couldn't smoke and now I couldn't even treat myself to chocolate chip cookies to soothe myself.  But I stuck with it. 

Little by little every single day I tried something new. If I'd done one pushup the day before, the next day I tried two. If I'd successfully walked 3 miles on the treadmill, I'd add a minute of running - then two - then three. On and on. 

Then I discovered Jillian Michaels and it's like my whole world expanded. By this time I was looking really good and feeling really good and I joined a gym which only continued my fitness quest.  My friends started noticing and asking me for advice on how I did it. 

My good friend Richard showed me how I could get certified as a fitness instructor.  I never even thought at my age - 41 - I could even try something like this!  But I got certified, I auditioned to become an instructor and now I'm an instructor at my gym. 

So not only are these all healthy habits I've formed which are healthy in the traditional sense of me taking care of myself.  But having the courage to try new things, sticking to a disciplined routine and facing my fears has given me confidence in other areas. 

So when I'm hooking up with a guy I'm more careful today and I insist on protection. I made an appointment to get a mammogram. I set boundaries with toxic people who take advantage of my good nature. I try new and more challenging classes at the gym. 

And I just have a healthier self image and better self esteem.  

-- Kimberly (lady, ally)
Chicago






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"Healthy" foods that aint necessarily so

via RealJock, by Beth Sumrell Ehrensberger

Most anywhere you look, it’s easy to find plenty of healthful foods. But if there’s so much health food surrounding us, why is the obesity trend still on the upswing? There are lots of reasons, of course, but one issue may very well be the abundance of so-called health foods that are, well, not so healthy. There are so many, in fact, that it’s impossible to list them all—but here are a few of the biggest, and trickiest offenders…and why you should steer clear.

Sugar-free treats

You can find sugar-free versions of almost anything your sweet tooth desires, like cookies, cake, and candy. But don’t be fooled by the cloyingly sweet standbys: while sugar free foods do often have fewer calories, they can still pack plenty from other sources, like fat. So if you’re seeking sweet, go ahead and eat it—but stick with a small serving of the real sugar-sweetened version of whatever you’re craving. It’s more likely to be satisfying, plus, you won’t be tempted to over-eat sugar-free treats all the while thinking you’re in the clear because they are “diet” (and the calories still add up). If that’s not reason enough, consider this: many times the sweetening agents used in sugar free treats can have gastrointestinal side effects that, when eaten in excess, just aren’t so sweet.

Read the rest.

Man Drinking Fat. NYC Health Anti-Soda Ad. Are You Pouring on the Pounds?

Who's That Queer [James Beard]

Brought to you by Pistol Pete

James Beard was an American chef and food writer. Although little known outside the US, James Beard is recognized by many as the father of American gastronomy.


He trained initially as a singer and actor, and moved to New York City in 1937. Not having much luck in the theater, he and his friend, Bill Rhodes, capitalized on the cocktail party craze by opening a catering company, Hors D'Oeuvre, Inc. which led the publication of Beard's first cookbook, Hors D'Oeuvre and Canapés, a compilation of his catering recipes. Rationing difficulties in World War 2 brought his catering business to a halt. In 1946 he appeared on an early televised cooking show, I Love to Eat on NBC, and thus began his rise as an eminent American food authority.

Read the rest at Gay for Today.

Want to eat some cock?

Matsuri Celebrates
Japanese Festival 
With Phallic Menu

via Village Voice, by Michael Musto
 
New York - April 1

On the menu: "Get It Up Hot Pot," "Big Sausage," and "Hard Banana Cream Pie."

Proper Attire Required.

Read the rest.

Pass Go, Advance Direct2Food

mm, mmm good

Direct2Food is Metro Chicago’s one-stop shop for meeting the food needs of you and your family.

This online resource will help you locate the food pantries, soup kitchens, and meal programs closest to you. Direct2Food will also help you determine if you are eligible for further assistance like food stamps and resources for Women, Infants, and Children (WIC).

How We Became a Society of Gluttonous Junk Food Addicts

via AlterNet, by Arun Gupta

I am hardly alone. Frito-Lay is the snack-food peddler to the world, with over $43 billion in revenue in 2008. The 43-year-old cheesy chip is a "category killer," dominating the tortilla chip market with a 32 percent share in 2006, and number two in the entire U.S. "sweet and savory snacks category," just behind Lay's potato chips.

$1.7 billion in annual sales in the U.S, is big business. Behind the enigma of Doritos’ dominance, and the lure of junk food to even the most refined palettes in the world, are the wonders of food science. That science, in the service of industrial capitalism, has hooked on us a food system that is destroying our health with obesity-related diseases. And that food system is based on a system of factory farming at one end, which churns out cheap, taxpayer-subsidized commodities like corn, vegetable oil and sweeteners, and the giant food processors at the other, like Frito-Lay, that take these commodities and concoct them into endless forms of addictive junk foods.

Read the whole thing.

dmdp.3 - mo Miami (Miami part two)

[david's
menu-driven planet]

the third in a series of semi-lucid
rants by david,
only on LifeLube

<<< here
for miami part one



Picture it... January, 1986...

a free moonlight cruise up and down the Intercoastal Waterway between Miami and Ft. Lauderdale; my buddy-- then attending UM Coral Gables (where he routinely showered with Vinnie Testaverde) and his YUCA Lawyer boyfriend had won it as part of a radio promotion. The boyfriend was falling for the "Skipper" (- an old white man of completely unattractive appearence, and I like Old White men) in an obvious, queer, amusing way. It was a magical evening- January, North American Continent, 76 degrees at midnite- remember, we're Illinois People-- with that dense thicket of a zillion hotel rooms and suites, glorious penthouses offered up to Sea and Sky. Almost made up for my Buddys' cramming me into the trunk of his (ostensibly rented for my visit) subcompact to drive his unraveling dealer to Lauderdale and back, or scoring me some shit to take back North- to which he reacted upon tasting-

"...IT BURNS..."!!!...and then proceeding to step on it repeatedly.

I laid in an adjacent bedroom, still closeted, whilst Buddy and boyfriend snorted and porked each other (I guess) . Very Pastel, very Reagan, very Jewish, Juban, Chinese, those days. Everybody walking around South Miami metrorail station froze-faced. I was abstaining then. Miami was already well- rehearsed as crime-addled, third world urban snakepit...a big part of it-- I thought-- was they refused to give up those crank- turned series of glass- slats and get real fucking doors.

The COCONUT GROVE ORGANIC FARMERS MARKET IS PARADISE. There's a rule with Farmers Markets and hot springs--- the more difficult the Journey, the Sweeter the Potential rewards. Taxis are plentiful and forthright but expensive, and we see the meter blasting skyward so early on this long trip as we head towards the Mainland Miami, my shower has already evaporated in the subtropical heat. I know enough about the "GAY GROVE" of Old to know that there IS NO "GAY GROVE" anymore and hasn't been in decades. Even South Beach has only 2 gay pubs left- TWIST has 5 bars in one, yes, but...TWIST was about to open the last time I was there with Larry..1991? We of course got an opening -night party invitation (had a pinwheel) and I remember our dejection at the thought that we had to return to a grey, cold, much less indolent Chicago.

In her definitive Miami true -crime book "THE CORPSE WORE A FAMILIAR FACE" Edna Buchanan described "THE GROVE" as a community of "Old trees and young people"...that's sort of reversed, what with gentrification and cyclonic defenestration but much of the Market Grounds are snug in the toes of old survivors. GLASER FARMS is much of the market- they grow locally, have their own lines of products from other countries, and have ready-made meals that smart Miamians on-the-go flock away with. The best stuff is in back- nutmilk booths, raw cacaos, fruit juice rainbows, discreetly and accurately seasoned plates of local vegan soul food. The peak comes with a ONE LOVE LIVE FOOD CANISTEL(EGGFRUIT) TART with SPROUTED ALMOND/ APRICOT CRUST and PULVERIZED CACAO DRIZZLE ($13). It's as close as you can get to eating a Miami sunset. It doesn't matter if you're seeing it from atop the onetime CENTRUST TOWER ( a rare rave for I.M. Peis firm-- is it a Truman Era refridgerator or a Brazillian reactors' cooling tower?) ) or from BAYSIDE MARKETPLACE (Miamis' Fishermans' wharf...just uncool, Man) : DUSK IN MIAMI IS PROOF THAT THERE IS A GOD.

The canistel grows from Mexico to Brazil and has an impossibly lush orange flesh that (to me at least) recalls mamey or papaya. Much of the stuff sold in these booths has backyard/ neighbor/ enthusiast/ hobbyist origins. LIke the best foods these are bittersweet- we are quickly back to 2007 via the newspaper and a recently completed $250 million hwy that has choked the natural rhythm of the ocean and is causing blooms of deadly red tide. So great the need must be to facilitatate another 10, 000 rich white guys and their manatee- ramming boats, Naples gated communities.

Here we are, 2007... We additionaly manage to biovac in the VERY HEART of South Beach, a DAMRON selection with the "Gay" scratched off their proferred card on arrival. The young black man at the desk is friendly and has a great smile however, so we don't take offense when he has no card of his own. We are across the Street from MTV -- about to move half its' Latin American operations to Buenos Aires. When we arrive at that same City (for Argentina is super-annuated Florida) it is announced that Frances Ford Coppola and Daughter had bought a hotel in the fashionable Palermo area...so that tells you where Miami-- expensive, hassly Miami-- just like L.A.- again, -is going. Conversely, any action that goes to South America South Florida gets a piece of-a vast amount of Capital right there.

We see some of that Capital on the bus ride (RIDES, plural, for me) between Miami Beaches north and south. Original Modern estates, baby bauhaus -on -the -sands, splendid revivals here and again, landscaped to the 9s, canopys cautiously resurgent, with a rare giant inching towards oldgrowth between big blows. Miami is a city of proud ancient wrex, like Carlos Zapatas' "Everglades Post-Industrial", or "Mosquito Chic" house on a nearby' beach, or his nascent Soldier Field corroding in the middle of a thronged pedestrian thoroghfare, a consumer cafe causeway. We are going to the north beach Sister establishment to the "scratched-out gay" SoBe hostelry.

Our room is expensive, EVEN LESS beach- adjacent than I'd thought, in more of a buzzered complex than hotel; housing pressure is high in MIAMI, the '6th BOROUGH' with added onus of being subtropical. Obviously a lot of less-wealthy people have been forced to North Miami Beach from other areas, yes, So Be comes to mind. There is no shortage of thug live among the immensely modest stoops, diverse and pleasant peoples. Kiss a lot of that bye-bye- the whole block across the street is about to fall to, has mammoth signs for- glowing luxury townhomes, multistory jobbers with humanoid forms perched on top. On top, very important. Not in but ON. Our building is vintage as promised and we do the universal pizza or chinese delivery, crack open some of our COCONUT GROVE ORGANIC FARMERS MARKET papayas, watch tv on a bed that's as voluminous as any we've encountered- and correspondingly saggy- middled. We wait for the bus to not- too- too- far HAULOVER BEACH for a while but it doesn't come as scheduled...then doesn't come at all...and we give up for the night.

HAULOVER BEACH IS PARADISE. A legal nude beach in North Miami. I go solo, meet a man named Don who is big on flicking himself (!) --from DuPont Circle D.C. We chat after he strikes up a conversation about how briefly I am in the water- and before and after I dip I'll be the one wearing hooded sweatshirts in the subtropics- I don't like skin cancer nor glomming the ocean with suntan oils. It is only early March but with the surging sunlight, blue sky and warm waters I'm in the Caribbean. That Miami Magic again. The water in San Francisco sports a litany of reasons not to swim. Here it's just the 300 mile long-ball of worms (more distastefull than dangerous) which lives on Florida Sewage and feeds the Stone Crabs (a renewable fishery, BTW). On our return leg home we have a 5 hour MIA layover and I come within a hair of cabbing us back to HAULOVER for a welcome -back- to- America bask but the cost of the sortie climbs past $100 and I deciede against, just as well - a brief but ruinous tropical cloudburst commences out of thin Equatorial air.

dmdp.2 - Lady Miami Magnificent and Morose (Miami part one)

[david's

menu-driven planet]

the second in a series of semi-lucid rants
by david, only on LifeLube

Finding
Sacred South Beach
requires sifting
thru a lot of Shit

Versace is dead. Perhaps my closest brush with fame came in 1991; staying at, with, my newly- Exed Ex (quite a trick right there) at his condominium on Lenox. Back then it could take a queen an hour to walk two blocks, so pervasive was the street cruising. I emerged from the Sea, wearing nothing but a pair of white painter shorts. Gianni Versace lived and died at the News Cafe, and as I approached he was at his table looking down at the Street and the Drive and the Beach and the Ocean. His eyes lit up with the look of Love (slight chance also that it was cocaine, or a combination of the two) as he saw me. I entered and perused the extensive magazine selection, all the time he and I stealing glances of each other. I know- hard to believe in 2007 that you could enter a commerical establishment without a shirt.

As I said, I was down there with a newly exed- and not happy about it- Ex AND I was newly, seriously enamored with someone else as well. The Man situation was already complicated enough without adding another, no matter HOW famous and rich. And in those days I wouldn't even consider sex - any kind- with an HIV positive person. I would have been floored to discover Versace was HIV negative. Just common sense. As much as I could tell from a couple looks into his eyes, Gianni Versace was a decent man.

So here it is, South Beach 2007. Caricatures run rampant- the fake I.D. crowd - BREEDER TEEN URBAN POOR BEACH BAR PARTY- run to make reservations NOW- blasting their music while cruising or crawling down Ocean Drive; fagaphobic Amer- Cuban kids, visible 'Ho and Pimp combos (like the less-Desirous aspects of Las Vegas, more on that later), a gay circuit beach party replete with bull-horn blasting protesters (tho the cops show up and make them spew unamplified Hate only)...almost full circle from my first visit here, maybe 1986; I'd never seen an abandoned City before and just my Buddy PULLING OVER- not even putting the car in park- caused me to become very disturbed indeed. We walked to the ocean, me just about walking backwards as I was sure somebody was going to come between us and the safety of the car. There was already the pastel orange- aptly named -SOUTH POINTE TOWER up-- my Buddys' YUCA lover had the brochure in their Coral Gables apt. - so the writing even then was very much on the wall. Miami Beach needs to be re-, no THREE-Gentrified but seeing as how every last single HOMO in South Florida has moved to LAUDERDALE, that ain't going to happen.

Our First night finds us in a Jordan Mozer- rehabbed hotel-er, bedsit. Small. Expensive. Centrally located. Then it's the MARLIN HOTEL, former home/studio of Island Records founder Chris Blackwell. Back in '93 I used the toilet here on a quick cab sortie from MIA, on brief layover between the Cayman Islands and O'hare....like I said, (toilet) brushes with fame. Also noted that last flash visit was the disheveled sands, courtesy of hurricane Andrew the previous year. We are happy to have this suite at the MARLIN- our trip is almost in the "last minute" catergory- and the present owner/operator is salacious and sails the ship smoothly during our stay- however there is a strong smell of vomit in the suite, right inside the bedroom door. As much as the roaming bar party that South Beach has become (Marlin ground floor included) I blame for this the immense disease incubators called CRUISE SHIPS- zillions of them, magnificent to look at as they round the tip of SoBe in the Government Cut. THe new downtown Miami performing arts center isn't named after CARNAVAL for nothing. Our ANCHORAGE AK. relatives say when Summer comes and the ships return everybody is frequently sick, as they contact the passengers at their jobs and bring pathogens home. SICK SCHMICK- SoBe has its' priorities straight- pop a bottle or can into any reputable lodgings' fridge and 2 minutes later it's not merely FROZEN- it is CRYOGENIC.

I talk with a black woman in a cafe about how there are no jobs anymore. I drink cuban coffee, which makes me psychotic. We got to JOES STONE CRAB several times even though my Partner doesn't eat crab. Sort of like Miami Beachs' BERGHOFF (R.I.P.) and lying in what was once known as SoFi (South of Fifth; does anybody remember the club JUNKYARD?). If nothing else it is venerable, capacious enought to make reservations an afterthought, and has rank after rank of servers that give a taste of how 'It Used To Be". The Food in South Beach is awful (another shared trait with Las Vegas); we get thru a meal (nice silver) at PACIFIC TIME, on a busy pedestrian thoroughfare. It too smells of puke. In back I find an article framed on the wall from a magazine that declares PACIFIC TIME one of it's "Best New Restaurants"...for 1994...I want to cry. Doing some research yields an eatery tip, and despite the fact that it's named after a person (always a bad sign- cult of personality and ego, ya know) and we go check it out. It's in what looks like a drop-dead gorgeous renovation of a historic hotel...from a distance. The lobby reveals all sorts of expensive woods and tarting up...this in a building, a district- originally constructed for the middle and (cough cough) working class Fantasy-ers. All these charming sows' ears down here that the Clueless - Madonna and the surviving, HETERO half of Studio 54 come to mind- destroy in their quest for a silk purse. It's a wonder we don't walk out of this place with the subversive sleekness, young Cuban bartender that blasts us with a nanosecond of pure resentment for distracting him from the TV, and desserts so sugary that they're almost inedible. I found this place mentioned in one of the glossy food magazines yesterday; the article was expounding on why the wine scenes in Las Vegas and Miami suck so bad (they don't care about building a clientele or repeat customers, evidently) and this place is specific was sited for marking up some of their wines 5 times wholesale- which the author says should be criminal.

Architect Michael Graves is wasted on South Beach, his condo building unfortunately similar in size to it's neighbors and probably forced to tone down by a local "design review board" as well. If Las Vegas and South Miami Beach have the worst food of any US Tourist meccas, Metropolitan Miami has the most all-abundant awful modern architecture. Witness how, over a decade ago, a design for twin condo towers from Chicagos' very own Helmut Jahn was rejected for being too "radical"- a rare occasion when perversity would have been appropriate, like smoking MARINOL pills, but ended up being-- like Irony in Miamis' overgrown, omnipotent and Evil Cousin Los Angeles- useless. The Should-be-fantabulous BASS MUSEUM is undone by its' small size and evisceration (again) of a historic library. In all fairness to architect ARATA ISOZAKI, there's a model here of what he WANTED to build, funds permitting. And South Beach can be solemn - the lustrous little clip of coral rock that constitutes the BASS is mere steps from the Ocean- how may treasures would YOU want to heft when invariably you flee, Florida being as perfectly mated to Atlantic Hurricanes as Mexico is to funnelling narcotics to the United States? The whole point maybe moot as Miami in general- South Beach in specific- are about a holy trinity of Beach, Body, and Party; if you want art, go to Buffalo.

dmdp1.1 - a salute to Chile

[david's

menu-driven

planet]

the first in a series by david

only on LifeLube

...SO after ANOTHER bus ride over the Andes (from Bariloche, Argentinathis time) we arrive in Puerto Montt, Chile. This is a combination terrestrial truck nexus and port for those
plunging into Patagonia to the South. We half- commandeer, half-hijack a taxi driving by the Bus Station in an outer lane- the Driver freezes up, feigns ignorance-another Driver intercedes, points us (in retrospect) towards our destination- Hotel Gran Pacifico- looming above us on the Hill. We roll our cases thru the sidestreets, instinctively seeking high ground. We schlep up a vast staircase- me carrying Toms' bag, as hewill soon be 68- and are at the Hotel, which up to this point has displayed no sign. It is recommended in the Guidebook as a place for those tired of being in hostels and want a clean, private room with optional full business services. I hit the shower and we head upstairsto Dinner; Congrio (eel) fillet with oysters, spinach and rice. The oysters have their "coral" (roe) attached, as is the norm any where outside "cleanliness"- obssessed Estados Unidos. The portion is perfect sized for me, tired and hungry but not famished in a Chile which treatsalmost every meal not just as an excuse to show off the fruits of thesea but to show that they are working double time to strip-mine it aswell. Chile is about the Fish. I fear at times that the Hotel Gran Pacifico is another "Love Hotel", albeit a clean, modern, amenity-laden one. I worry, if this is so, that Tom and I will get ejected for bickering. The elevators ply- glass-walled shafts, the penthouse restaurant- where we eat more thanI'd like to admit- has tremendous views and the simple jugos framboise featured (sin zucar) in the breakfast buffet is easily one of the tastiest and most restorative things I injest on the entire trip. We cab out to Angelmo market, a waterfront expanse of restaurants and shops. A gentleman sides up to us and instigates a conversation."...Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you..." He assures us, and a tour ages and degree of bumpin' around we'd been doing, we needed to hear this. He is short, built like a firetruck, lives in upscale Vina Del Mar, involved with Planes (lots o' Chileans have Pilots' Licenses)and the red hair typical of German/Chilean mixes. We select an eatery and sit down; there is salmon of some sort on the house- Chileans are, alas, crazed for Salmon that is farmed, not very tasty or healthy (though Swiss organic certifiers IMO have certified fish farms that wedo not visit). Our new friend orders "LOCOS", which are abalone. All but extinct in the North American wild, he receives a plate with at least a dozen of the dense little plugs of ocean protein...covered in what looks like bright orange aerosol cheese. Remember, this guy couldbe a linebacker- and he can not even finish off half of the mollusks, looks somewhat distressed at the Waste of it all. We safely order HAKE-MERZLUNA- a mild white fish that is ubiquitous in Chile. It is decently cooked and of course appallingly fresh. We thank the guy and bid him adieu, walk the short distance back to the Hotel Gran Pacifico. Across from the bus station (now unrecognizeable from the night and our Entry to the City) between the Angelmo Market and Hotel is MELLIPULLI Artists' Village. The sign saying "organic coffee" is misleading because the Cafe serving it is run by an Italian, an artisan explains, and he is too moody to be open. I talk to the kindred folk there- some of the booths have collections of what many would call"junk" but in the context and the displays sometimes appropriate genius. I follow a clue here and there and manage to score some grass-perhaps the dreaded "Paraguayan" (what a world!). Squirreling it back to the hotel makes me happy- it at least has enough oil to stain the paper and, say what you will, wasn't grown under any fucking lamps. Tom has stumbled across local ecological Chilean wine- a lovely-labelled CHISIYAM- from the mall across the Street. The Malbec we toss as it is corked, but the Cabernet Saugvignon is the Real Deal. I give thanks to be in such an exotic place, warm, secure, with the One I love, enjoyingthe Local agricultural products. I pass on dinner because the penthouse restaurant is packed (Puerto Montt is a tiny City) and the reefer and wine are local and real but not polished (read: ROUGH) and my system is feeling it. Tom of courseblames it on the grass so I am on my own for dinner. PORTO MONTT is a perfect PORT City. I return to the restaurant-again, chosen from the guidebook- that we shared an unmemorable lunchin. It is night now- historical buildings appear so fragile that a breeze might move them into the Pacific. Dogs shadow me appraisingly, copulate- and lock up- on the sidewalks in front of Malls that have subsumed even a town so remote and tiny as Porto Montt. The moon-"KUYEN" to the MAPUCHE people who 1st inhabited this Land- watchesover all. It is late and all but deserted. My server is a sweet, good looking, Exotic- eyed young woman who has a case of wander-lust if for no other reason than waiting on so many travelers. There on the TV is a Latin-America Diva who I should probably recognize- what with that stupendous stage set-up, those not-occurring -in- nature bosoms...but she is singing in Spanish. The late dinner here is as unmemorable as lunch but ends with a top-notch cake of many precise layers...again,the German influence.