Sparkwood & 21

Stupid Nutrition Advice: Don't Eat Corn; Make Your Own Popcorn!

Nutrition information is confusing. And it is no wonder why. Unless you are reading the scientific reports, the original source, you are likely going to get befuddling if not downright conflicting information.

I stupidly clicked on a link-bait article titled, "14 Foods You Should Never Eat." Never everrrrrrrrr! That sounded pretty absolute, so I clicked to find (bet you never could have guessed...) a SLIDESHOW.

Still, I forged ahead. There I discovered that one should NEVER eat unorganic strawberries. Or sprouts. Or corn.

Then just a few clicks away they say to never eat buttered microwaved popcorn. EVER. Instead? Make your own popcorn using real butter.

WHAT HAPPENED TO NEVER EATING CORN? That was just 5 slides back!

This happens all the time in women's fitness magazines and on "health blogs," but rarely have I seen the advice contradicted IN THE SAME ARTICLE.

It is no wonder people have no idea what to eat...

[photo credit]

Free Yourself

Discover the joy in not giving a good goddamn what people think. 

Time to Upgrade. Thanks, Cat. You Shithead.

My cat Gracie was apparently put on this Earth to knock shit to the ground. Last night she upped her game.

I put my glass of water on the floor beside the nightstand so she wouldn't knock it off, showering me and everything around us in liquid. So, she knocked my iPhone off the nightstand and into the glass of water instead.

D:

I'm pretttttty sure, fairly fucking certain, that a barber standing outside his shop smoking a cigarette pointed at me as I walked by and said to his friend: "That's the kind for me right there. You can keep the young ones."

My Corporate Environment and the Apex of Calorie-Free, Carb-Free Soda Consumption

While I adore my co-workers, I work in a highly "corporate" environment. While my friends at start-ups and other techie companies in SF go to work at places with lime green couches and ping pong tables and Odwalla juices and organic just there for the taking and kegs on many floors  (I'm looking at you here, Yelp.), my place of employ hooks its team members up with cubicles in three shades of beige and occasionally someone brings in bagels.

Thus, new vending machine items are very exciting. You wouldn't believe the little dance of glee I did when I saw THIS greeting me this morning from the bottom row:

This is as good as it gets, ladies and gentlemen.

Day made.

Every day, once a day, give yourself a present.

On Tuesday I passed a florist who was spraying down cut flowers arranged tightly in glass jars. I hesitated for half a second, but remembered the wise words of one Special Agent Dale Cooper, and made a right into the store.

I plucked a perfect bouquet, paid too much for it, then walked it to my desk.

It has delighted me each day this week.

Quintessential Comment

"You mean to say that a government official is corrupt? And you're surprised by this? Is this really news?"

Congratulations, commenter. You got all three in one fell swoop. Only a "Slow news day?" would improve this submission, but otherwise, solid A.

Today Is Better

Isn't it fantastic that our bad moods naturally blossom into a brighter outlook with only the passing of time? Sometimes just a night's sleep, other times months or weeks, but if we wait, sour becomes sweet in spite of itself. 

Rollercoaster City

The other morning, like many mornings, the 12-Folsom just decided not to show up. 12s only come every 20 minutes, so I took a different bus that would get me 3/4s of the way to work, deciding to jump out and grab a cab at that point.

Which is what I did. I was lucky to snag a taxi at that time of morning, and with a nice driver, too. I told him where I was going, and he sent the car into motion, deftly moving it through rush hour traffic.

Soon we were in Nob Hill. The roads cleared there, as though they were waiting for us. The asphalt was glowing with morning sunlight, and all the buildings, too. It wasn't foggy, but hazy. Sunshine fighting hard for dominance lit everything on fire. 

The steely mass of the Bay Bridge popped into view, all splendor and strength, and we were flying. The taxi moved like a rollercoaster over the crests of the hills. Steep inclines and dramatic plummets sent my bladder into my gut and my gut into my throat. The speed and gravity and up and down so fast sent edorphins running all over my brain, and I fought the urge to squeal.

This is my city. This taxi ride is my commute. This thrill, this joy, this rollercoaster ride to work with postcard views spilling out from all sides is why I live here.

San Francisco remains a fairy tale city for me. A fairy tale city full of danger and crime and homelessness and human shit. 

But any place where a ride to work feels like a ride at an amusement park is okay by me. 

How to Not Stop Biting Your Fingernails

I was going to write a post called How I Stopped Biting My Fingernails, because I did just that, for many weeks. I woke up one day and decided I was going to stop biting my nails, so I went to the nail salon at 24th and Harrison and I asked them to put acrylic nails on my tiny stubs. When he began cutting the claws down to normal nail size I told him, "Short. Super short. So short you can't believe I came in her to have fake nails put on." Then I asked politely for him to file them very thin. He obliged me on all fronts. As a result I was able to use my hands without the nails getting in the way. I grew my natural nails beneath them long, and eventually moved on to a gel manicure, which is just your own nail with nail polish baked on with heat.

My hands looked great. I didn't even miss biting my nails, since nail biting isn't a nervous habit as much it is one of obessive grooming. It is vanity, actually. You see a snag or an uneven nail and so you begin to perfect it with your teeth. You can't stand to see your nails with one side even slightly rounder than the other. So you pull more at them with your teeth until you've made an improvement or your fingers bleed.

I let my last gel manicure go far too long without attention, and so they looked ragged. Grown out and obviously in need of a touchup. So while watching I movie I bit all my fingernails off. I write this with a Band-Aid on my middle finger, and it hurts every time I use it to hit a key.

My nails looked flawed and so I ripped them off with my teeth, one by one. Now, of course, they look jagged and short and terrible.

I'm going to try again. I'm going to get a manicure weekly if need be, cost be damned. I'm going to have to keep them perfect so I won't destroy them entirely. Because my compulsion to fix will override every time.