Nevermind, your friends, keep your enemies close and your frienemies closer. Frienemies? Yes, frienemies. The ones that you think are friends but in actuality, they're just out to get you. And your money.
Comfort foods are frienemies. The ones we go to when we're feeling blue, like the trusty ole proverbial tub of ice cream on those sad cry-on-a-shoulder moments I've heard other people talking about. And what about the "Happy Meal" served by a smiley clown? After years of assaulting my waistline with his commercialized gratuitous likability, I think that guy deserves his own lo-jack ankle bracelet that goes off whenever he comes near me. And by goes off, I'm thinking "invisible fence" collar.
That said, all Golden M's aside, my latest personal favorite of Know Thy Frienemy 2013 award goes to the A&W "Buddy Burger". After all, its name suggests its your friend.This is a double-patty burger with processed cheese on a white bread bun that has enough grease to soak through its waxed paper wrapper. Perfectly awful, and perfectly legal.
Who the heck comes up with it and how the heck does he get away with having his best friend Approve it for re-sale? I mean, let's be clear... Raw milk, which has presumably been consumed for longer than the wheel has been around, is deemed unsafe, thus not approved for human consumption. But you can feed your kid a Happy Meal, and it's perfectly legal.
Which brings me to my midday Sunday rant, partially driven by a weekend of schockumentary-induced realizations about food, and partly based on my fresh OJ (compliments of organic California naval oranges and my Jack LaLanne PJP): The food I've been raised on until now simply sucks.
But I'm a week into my life change and I'm absolutely flooded with the realization that everything about my lifestyle has come at the expense of the planet and my well being. It goes beyond food; every type of soap, every cleaning product, my personal hygiene product choices, right down to the materials my clothes are made out of. Something has suffered for the sake of production for almost every material I own. Some of it I need, such as deodorant. I never realized before now just how much my lifestyle depended on manufactured, highly processed produce at an expense beyond the monetary count at the cash register.
I feel like I've truly become awakened and aware of the fog of merchandising and manufacturing that I've been living in.
Suddenly, the idea of homesteading has a whole new meaning.
Storebought Thought,
Fat Guy
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