Soylent Pink

I wish I had enough money to be skinny.

The unfortunate reality is that unless you are living very comfortably and/or you have a lot of time on your hands, it is really difficult to eat right. Good health has never been more expensive than it is today. If you want healthy food, it's going to cost you. On the other hand, if you choose to purchase a "heart attack on a plate," that's generally found on the value menu.

I've developed a mathematical equation to demonstrate my point:




Please note that "b" represents "massive coronaries," and NOT "massive canaries." I made that mistake once and it set me back three months on my research and $500 on newspaper to line the bottom of their cages.

The idea is that because healthy food is in demand, the price of anything nutritional and below 500 calories has skyrocketed. Since starting this project, I've been spending less on food, eating less food, and consuming more fat and calories. Living out of the van makes it hard to cook, and I'm on a very limited budget, so I find myself regularly visiting McDonald's, Wendy's, and Big Mike's House of Grease for their dollar menus.

Here's a fun game to play: Grab some friends and organize a scavenger hunt. Head to your local 7-11 and try to find a complete nutritional meal under 800 calories. Extra points if you can find a dessert without doubling your caloric intake.

If you don't have money, but have time, cooking relatively healthy meals is a possibility. But let's be honest, not everyone has time to cook every night. God help you if you find yourself among the working poor (a surprisingly high percentage of the American population). If Oprah can't find a consistent diet with all of her money, that thirty-year-old mother of three working two jobs just to pay rent has no chance. Jenny Craig? Weight Watchers? Turns out those cost money.

You could get weight loss advice from free sources, like television, but that could be counterproductive. Who's the biggest weight loss expert on television? That's right...Dr. Phil. And he's fat. That's like getting relationship advice from Michael Jackson.

There are exceptions to the rule. Those at the extreme end of poverty can't afford the dollar menu, and its hard to load up on carbs when you can't buy a pot to cook your ramen in.

The other exception, of course, comes when you're willing to purchase food that is, for lack of a better term, disgusting. If this sounds acceptable to you, it is possible to maintain a healthy diet on a working person's salary. While cruising the grocery isle for a suitable alternative to the $15 tofu sandwich advertised at the deli, I came across the following:



Potted meat. In other words, generic spam. This is a product made for the consumer who says to himself (and I'm sticking with "him"self; I'm guessing potted meat is primarily a bachelor purchase), "I like hot dogs, but I worry that they might be a little too bourgeois. Is there some sort of meat product that's a little more, I don't know, mushy? Spam, you say? No, that seems a bit too fancy for my simple tastes."


Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the potted meat phenomena is the labeling. Notice that both potted meat brands felt the need to label the cans "Food Product." Why would they feel the need to label it as food unless they felt it necessary to clarify? It reminds me of a child's drawing, where the kid is incapable of producing a picture that accurately represents her intentions, so to relieve any doubt, she writes the name of what she just drew and points to the image. For example:


Now if I were capable of drawing a better cow, I would not feel the need to point out that it was indeed a cow. (Notice I also demonstrated the cow mooing, so as to remove all doubt). If the potted meat companies were confident they were making an edible product, I submit that they would not feel the need to label it as food. It's like they are telling me, "Sure it's food. Don't believe us? Read the label, asshole."

What's the difference between "Potted Meat Food Product" and cat food?

Cat food is more expensive.

Well, assuming the cat has an owner with a suitable income.

The Devil's Advocate

The man standing before me can't be God.

The man standing before me can't be God, but I can't get over the feeling that he was sent here to test me, to humble me, to take my freewheeling careless optimism and turn it on its head.

The man standing before me is the embodiment of human misery. Ragged and sinewy from years of mistreatment, he hunches over his gray steely bicycle, feebly attempting to grip the handlebars with his grossly misshapen hands.

He wears thick black sunglasses, but I don't need to see his eyes to feel the pain emanating from them. His long graying mane sticks out the back of a dirty brown ball cap and ties loosely into a ponytail, complimenting his already gray beard.

It unnerves me how much he looks like the late, great George Carlin; except for when he smiles. It is a sinister, inauthentic smile, serving only to highlight the small decaying teeth he has left, and it chills me to the bone.

I am sitting on the edge of my van, jotting some notes, when the man approaches me. He is looking for some change, and I quickly oblige, offering him the chance to sign my vehicle (an early tradition on this trip.) He takes the change but shakes his head.

"I don't like to leave a trail."

I ask him about himself, and he responds, laughing ironically.

"I've lived a long, miserable life."

He is 52-years-old, but appears much older, having spent the majority of his life on the streets, scrounging for food, skipping from shelter to shelter. He used to do home maintenance, but bad arthritis (and an increasingly apparent mental condition) have rendered him unable to work beyond a couple hours.

I do my best to help him, to offer him solace and hope for the future, but he refuses any attempt at appeasement.

"I'm glad I've got hair, because it covers up all the scars. I've been hit in my damned head so many times!" He laughs a wicked, wild laugh, then stares directly at me. "I don't know how I keep living...Why I have to keep living."

I ask if he's able to find work doing anything else, flailing at words to give him some level of comfort. This only serves to anger him.

"I'm PISSED off," he yells, his face turning red as it forms an even wider grin. He will yell this many times over the course of our conversation. Though it is clear he is trying to intimidate me, I refuse to flinch, instead offering a regrettably agitated counter argument.

"Then do something about it," I counter. "Your life isn't over. Get yourself together. Quit being pissed off and start helping yourself. Because things aren't going to change unless your attitude changes."

I have a bad habit of arguing with mentally unstable individuals. It becomes obvious throughout our talk that this man will never listen to reason, that he can't listen to reason. But the scary thing about this man is that, crazy as he is, he is not incapable of thought.

"I just want to be invisible. I just want to disappear. Everyone should be cremated when they die. I have to be cremated. There can be no trace of my existence. My brother died and they danced on his grave."

He pauses.

"The men who killed my brother are gone now. That makes me happy. But I'M STILL HERE!"

A police car passes by, and he pulls back.

"I can't stand the cops. I can't live in Henderson, because the cops won't let me be. I can't live in Summerlin, because the cops wont leave me alone. I can't live here..."

"That cop didn't do anything just now."

"That's because I didn't lie down. All I need to do is lie down."

We talk about the local shelters, my having experience with the futility of the options presented Las Vegas' homeless population. He lived at Salvation Army for 30 days, but they "refused to let me do my program, which is to have a place to sleep and a place to leave my stuff. So I told them to fuck off." He spent about a month at St. Vincent's homeless shelter, then told them to screw off.

I lasted about half that time before I gave that shelter a piece of my mind and left in disgust.

Five weeks. That's how long I lived homeless in Vegas. It took much longer to return my mind to normalcy. I remember how beaten down I was after five weeks, and shudder at what I would be like after five months. Five years. Thirty years.

In between his moments of reason and poignancy, his topics of conversation range from his black belt in karate to his depression to the government's refusal to acknowledge the UFOs he saw. This is not a well man. This is not a man that should be in the streets.

There is something particularly cruel about a society that forces the mentally impaired to suffer physically as well.

This man can't be God.

I see no God in this man.

The Meaning of Life and Other Minutiae

42.

Now that we have that out of the way, it's time to start dissecting the simple little matter that is the human condition. Don't worry, I'm not here to tell you what you should think. I fully understand, recognize, and currently subscribe to the idea that the meaning of life is different for different people.

For many, the meaning of life is to serve God, or Allah, or their personal version of a higher power. For others, the meaning of life is family, and all of the beautiful responsibilities that come with having one. For The Cookie Monster (and to a slightly greater extent, Rosie O'Donnell) the meaning of life is sweet, delicious chocolate chip cookies. (Look, I know it's a cheap shot, but what can I say, I'm a "The Donald" supporter. He's just too delightfully swarmy not to support.)

What I hope to accomplish with this blog is to open up the discussion on what is really important in life because, let's face it, we as a society have gotten off-track more than that last paragraph. Controversial wars, economic crises, increasing violence and paranoia, and a general degradation of respect and decency have all risen to power amongst a backdrop of unprecedented apathy.

Well, I submit that we stand apathetic no more (unless you wanna sit...I don't really care.) I'm going to use this blog as a tool for discussion about all of life's biggest issues. I want to find the truth. But because I know nobody wants to get bogged down in the serious issues all the time (what's this whole "Darfur" thing I keep hearing about?) I promise to keep this blog light and entertaining whenever possible.

The unique thing about this blog is that I've put myself in a position to be your instrument for enlightenment. Point me in a direction and I very well might go. I'm living in a van (a true mobile home) and I can always leave town at the drop of the hat in search of a cool experience or a wacky adventure. I've only been doing this for a week, and I've already got some great stories to tell.

I also want to implement a few standard features, which I'll explain now (You're welcome.) Staples of this blog will include "Tales of Van-Living," where I will document the little humorous eccentricities that come with a large man living in such a small enclosed space; "Life-Altering Literature," where I share recommendations from the wealth of books I will inevitably read along my journey; "Van Mail," where I will respond (hopefully intelligibly) to any questions you may have; and "Reasons for Living," where I document many of life's greatest pleasures, ranging from the birth of a first child to your favorite team winning a Superbowl to that scene in Fast Times at Ridgemont High where Phoebe Cates is getting out of the pool in slow motion and she (wait a minute...Who am I, Mr. Skin? You get the point.)

Most blog entries will include an anecdote from my travels written in narrative form, or a recap of something I learned that day. Many days I will also include a separate blog entitled, "Logan's Unoriginal Thought of the Day." This will be my chance to point out something that is on my mind and examine the sociological repercussions (to rant...this will be my chance to rant.) I call it my unoriginal thought of the day because I've learned that virtually any idea, thought, or inspiration you've had, no matter how brilliant, original, or inspired it is, has also crossed the mind of at least a dozen other people throughout time. This has been true pretty much since Plato died.

I will do my best to write a blog entry every day. All I ask is that you do your best to read them. Feel free to comment, argue, or leave suggestions.

Oh, and if you happen to know the real meaning of life, let me know ASAP so I can quit living in this van.

Until enlightenment,

Logan