Category Archives: the good life

The Problem with XX#-Day Diets, Exercise Programs

Combat-ready fruitarianism.

Always hungry for carbs and iron.

I think 30-day vegan diets, 28-day raw cleanses, 90-day workout routines, and other time-compartmentalized agendas for radical lifestyle change are atrocious. If you want to stay lean and green, plan to be vegan for the rest of your life; if you aim for fitness, plan to work out, well, forever. Raw veganism, power-lifting, calisthenics and kung-fu are among the manifestations of my commitment to health and discipline – and each one of them requires proper eating and vigorous exercise every day until I’m dead. Flat out. That’s my take on the matter. I’ve been vegan for over 12 years, almost half my life. I was a young teenager when I started and I think there were times when my moms thought it would be a passing phase, and folks casually asked when I would resume eating garbage and trashing the planet (not in such colorful language though). So if I came into any of this with the mentality or within the conveniently escapable constraint of it being a 30 or 60 or 90-day “program” or “cleanse,” I doubt I would have been so motivated and committed to remain in the game all these years later. I question why there are folks out there even promoting these sorts of programs, but I have a strong inkling as to the reasons – money and marketing.

When some fitness “expert” or health “guru” out there thinks they’ve arrived upon some new holy grail of fitness or diet, and they want to sell it to others and monetize their system, it is highly convenient to package it as a special, esoteric but fast-gratifying XX-day program of some sort. If they were to be honest and straightforward about it, they fear, people might not be interested in paying for their idea or consultancy. But this is underestimating the people. Why not be real? Tell cats that health is a life-long commitment from which there is no vacation or retreat. I’m into just freely sharing what works, what is practical, and what is sensible to the instincts of most people. I trust that people will get it, even if it somehow makes the enormity of the task that much bigger. But that’s the beauty of it – it’s a lifelong mission, an endless adventure, and it only rewards you day by day, with unparalleled health, resilience, lightness, compassion, wisdom, and so on. If you want health, do healthy things, from right now this day until your very last. Fitness and health are for life – there’s no 30-day shortcut into it, nor any vacation out of it.

It’s very basic. And if this sort of honesty is too brutal, then so be it. But if you’re gonna do P90X, as beautiful as its workouts are, ditch the “90” part and do it forever, until well past your 90th birthday. If you want some sort of “cleansing” by becoming a raw vegan, don’t fool yourself thinking like it’s a 30-day vacation from meat, junk and drugs. Raw veganism is for long-haul truckers only. Good health is only for long-haul flight captains. Massive vitality is only for life-long and storied generals. There are no shortcuts or breaks; you just do it and don’t stop, period.

I also don’t think you can get much out of doing something new, something you want to get really into, for just a few days. It takes years to master something, and then decades to master that mastery. So start now, today, this instant. And never, ever stop. Don’t even think about it.

Veganism is forever. Physical fitness is forever. There’s no way around it. Discipline is the only way. And any vacation from healthy eating and healthy living you think you want because you crave garbage and a lazy day, just ain’t worth it. I’m not talking about periodized exercise programs – of course, there are times to slow down, particularly during the off-season when you might take a short break from the rep-max power-lifting and stick to the basics, lighten the weights, do shorter runs instead of half-marathoning every time, etc., preventing physical burn-out. But the off-season is no excuse to revisit poisonous, cruel foods, drugs, or shameless sloth – veganism continues; ample sleep and stress-minimized living are not interrupted. The off-season, a month or a few weeks’ duration in a year-long periodization program for all athletes of the sport of life, corresponds with the life-cycle of hard work followed by moderate work and taking off a load; it does not correspond with partying hard and forgetting ones principles. Even in general, you don’t lift heavy every day – alternating days you lift moderate or light, or don’t lift at all; the light or off days are not to be days of backsliding, irresponsibility and excuses. So, even the “off-season” excuse doesn’t count. Matter of fact, forget I even mentioned the “off-season.” I’ll be in-season until I stop breathing. All of life is the in-season.

When you figure on going vegan, incorporating vigorous consistent exercise into your life, and all around assuming the healthiest lifestyles there are, look at it like you’re entering the point of no return, all doors behind you locked shut for good, and don’t look back. Then you can only move forward into success after success, mastery after mastery, in the endless, joyful, glorious pursuit of unrealized human potential.

We live but once. Live victoriously.

Mystic Vegan Tap-Dance Boogie

As part of festivities for the slight re-branding of this blog, here’s the latest posting in the form of some rhymes and images. Lyrics by me. Music by Djelimady Tounkara. Pro-vegan, pro-Earth, pro-common-sense, pro-peace, pro-people, Afro-positive bars.

Lyrics:

Chamber music provokes the mystic vegan tap-dance boogie

Unfold your arms, children, boss-up like righteous hooky

I am neither John Cassavates nor a Wookie

That means the only thing I do is resurrect the Chinese Bookie

.

Boogie-woogie, that’s the way of life that I promote

So the rookie wins, with bowling pins to stay afloat

Cargo cults that curry favor for the flavor of the wild oat,

And open up the gates that pen the billy goat

.

Though, it’s a long road, the other shore’s way over yonder

So in the meantime, the mystic tap-dance make’s you ponder:

Is this the best we can do, the human Cadillacs

Hacking each other down, Kalashnikov’s the battle ax?

.

Blacks killing blacks, capillaries full of plaques

Paranoia over mosques, migrants, money and Macs,

Stupefied by Sarah Palin, Mama Grizzlies going whaling

While the planet burns and floods like Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac

.

It’s a fact: the way we live is making ice shelves crack,

From meat and car culture to the war in Iraq

Which isn’t over, shift change to mercenary soldiers,

Different bullet casings, feral caffeine binges on Folgers

.

But the mystic vegan tap-dance boogie is real

Earthshine on the moon, still a light you can’t conceal

Hot: the soul-searcher bringing out her own potential

Not: the fake pundit telling lies through his credentials

.

A tap-dance thunderclap roars through the plains.

Knocking over all the rafters, bulldozers and cranes

That wanna spread suburban sprawl all the way past Saturn

Real estate Tourrette’s tics, the same worn pattern

.

Using drapes, curtains and shades, dealing aces and spades

But the tap-dance bottle-caps the ignorance raids

On your conscience, the subway ads for beer and pomade

The Times Square sonic light-show free-trade brigade

.

But the boogie boogies forth, as the tropics wander north

No fear, the tap-dancing clan has a plan to take a stand

On rock-solid ledges of a pluralistic thought,

The rise of the ubuntu, bumuntu, bananas bought

.

For the bounty, shared from the Bronx to Kisangani,

No need to kill for water or food like Handsome Johnny,

Cultures of violence and their vultures of silence

Might fade away, and that includes the restive oil fields of Bonny

.

The mystic tap-dance boogie shows that world peace isn’t hard

Beacons of light written in flight by buoyant bards

The inhospitable wardens across the planet

Must have obsidian souls while the boogie’s soul is pomegranate

.

Plummeting the hegemonic phonic of the fold,

To an abyss, all the white noise, the ambience, the hiss

As our own dance taps drown out the sound of cold

With the sound of bold, the human beings that blow a kiss

.

From Kinshasa to Fortaleza to Ogbomosho

Strong-willed strivers winning over all the no shows

To learn the mystic vegan tap-dance boogie in the Sun

Sustainable quilombos keep the corporate forces on the run

.

Clean and easy living, walk the land like Bodhidharma

Leave the car at home, empty the zoo and clear the karma

Bring the brothers home, close the jails and fund the college

The liberationists for revolutions must have knowledge

.

Pro-human pedagogies, no more spikes on planters

Science and traditional knowledge mix, we’re plant enchanters

Vandana Shiva is the general, and people like her,

Waangari Maathi, and plant more trees and be a biker

.

The mystic vegan tap-dance boogie looks like land and freedom

Mau Mau sounds preferring death until the stacks are even

Boogie men and women marchin’ to the sun

Teeth, tongue and tap-shoes – more stopping power than a gun

Raw “Tacos,” or the Nigerian

This past weekend I made some raw tacos, but I don’t wanna call them that. So I figure, why not just call it the “Nigerian“? Or the “Nigerian Sandwich“? Culture is invented every day. And I have both a Nigerian and a US passport (despite the fact that I was born, raised and spent 99% of my life in New Jersey and New York City). Since this particular style is original (there are other raw “tacos” but none are exactly like these) and a dual citizen (or at least dual passport holder) made them (who can legally claim Nigerianity or Nigeriosity by parentage alone), why not? Why not call this one for the whole Nigerian world? If one Nigerian can invent and enjoy a raw vegan so-called taco or burrito, all Nigerians can. Nigeria is not a static and rigid and ultra-conservative society of maddening corruption and sickeningly needless, manmade underdevelopment, where vegetarians are unheard of. It also includes, at least in theory since I do have a Nigerian passport, wild ubuntuist atheist anarcho-syndicalist raw-vegan pro-black gentlemen like me that ride bikes, write books and do kettlebells. And as of today, it also includes raw vegan tacos. We all know about Jolof rice, named after a whole ethnic group – the Wolof people – in Senegal. Now we have something even bigger – “the Nigerian.”

Also, the “Raw Okra Stew” I’ve talked about earlier? Forget that name. I am now calling it “the Green Garvey.” Copyright the Precision Afrikan 2010, if necessary. Wait, no, “Creative” Copyright (CC), right? And it’s all 100% open-source. See? Nigeria isn’t all about the lack of government transparency.

And to the thought police goblins, don’t get your undergarments all in a wedgie over this, claiming iconoclasm or unpatrioticness – I’m just trying to rebrand Nigeria like Dora Akunyili.

New traditions, baby, new traditions, all day. Pro-human, pro-planet, art, music, poetry and literature from sun-up to sun-down. Wanna enjoy the new world, the new Pan-African, Pan-American, Virgo Supercluster vision of celebrations and saxophone horns that can be heard, yes indeed, in the vacuum of space (well at least in low-Earth orbit)? Then you must become mighty healthy. The Nigerian will help you on that path.

The ingredients are:

A) The taco build –

Big leaves of collards

A nice big red cabbage

Carrots

Okra!!!!

Snow peas

Zucchini

Tomatoes

And any other damn vegetable thing you like. Cukes, avos, sprouts, bell pepper, whatever.

B) The sauce, blended in a blender

Tomatoes – like five or six plum tomatoes in my case

An onion

Fresh basil

Fresh cilantro

An habañero pepper, aka “heat rock”

And whatever else you’d like, don’t be dogmatic – read beyond the letter of the script.

So what do you do? You blend your sauce. You could use a bicycle blender to save electricity. I don’t have one of those yet. But that’s the most basic step. Then, with a bowl of that sauce handy, and after you’ve washed all your veggies, you build your tac– erm, Nigerians.

How’s that go? I start with a big, massive leaf of a collard. Open that up and spread some of the sauce on it. Then, peel off a nice thick purple leaf of the red cabbage for the second leaf which forms the inner “bun.” Spread a spoon of your sauce on top of this, too. Then, you add your veggies. Now I sliced the zucchinis into thin pasta strips with my trusty julienne slicer, and peeled my carrots into wafer-thin strips with my reliable vegetable peeler. On all the tacos, after laying down the buns, the first joints I drop in there are a handful of zucchini strips. Then come the snow peas, a few okras (lob off the tips of those), the carrot slices, and finally a few tomatoes. And last, I dribble some more sauce across the top. And then I repeat, making enough of these to exhaust my supplies and satisfy my hunger. Other than fruits, it was my main “supper” the whole weekend.

Extremely satisfactory and delicious, and very filling. At least to me. And my taste-buds aren’t that unusual. The minions of anti-veganism may fear the “blandness” of plants. As the great DJ Dirty Harry (Rockers) once said, Remove Ya! I and I come and change the mood! Get into this real food.

Try it out. Let this crazy rasta know what you think.

And now, the porn (Nigerian porn):

These joints look like Nigeria though, right? Especially if you’ve ever been down to my area, the Niger Delta. Greenness everywhere. I’m not that far off.

New traditions, baby, new traditions, all day. Global citizens of hip-hop veganism and reggae revolution topped with ragas can now relish the Nigerian.

Excellent Lifetime Dance Residency

Spring break is at hand in my chamber. This semester covers the remaining prereq classes needed for OT school which’ll start in 2011. I remember that I was once supposed to live an extremely simple monk-like life, little debt and problems, wandering free. Back in high school or even early college many years ago, I was totally ready to do things the lightweight way. Yet now I find myself so busied by yet more school, after already picking up undergrad and grad degrees and debt. Too many ambitions. I just quit my exploititive job and now money thin. Thus struggle ensues.

But there is refuge from the dregs of labor and worry. One must engage in the life-dance day to day. This is my ongoing practice. Exercise. Take long walks. Eat nothing but fruit and veggies! Put nothing but beautiful clean food inside. Sleep very well and at regular hours. Be outdoors as much as possible. For me, these methods make for an enduringly joyful and amazing life. No bragging! Every single human should possess a life of pedestrian, commonplace joy. Struggle is inherent in life on Earth. But joy is held captive to the struggle for many of us. We need to learn to liberate joy and well-being from the well of stress and toil. It is there. We just need to learn to dance and pull the joy on to the discotec and out of the wallflower roll.

Walk around the town. Walk like Korusawa’s shoulder shrugging samuri. We own the place. No fake-ass nation state, no police can stop us. We must walk like vegans. Physical vegans. Jaunting smooth. Arms swinging. Blood flowing and lymph moving. Singing. Even silently.

Run around the place. Pumping heart action. Atrial naturetic peptide moving. Blood is sweet and nice when it gets mixed around in the body bathing all the cells well. Lymph cleaning the interstitial spaces and swishing around. The eyes catch sights. The lungs catch breaths. We dodge traffic. NO, we ARE traffic. We drive bicycles. We drive our bodies. Vehicular veganism. Yes! The footfalls of the runner running for speed, strength, pride, well-being. Planning to live at least 120 years on planet Earth. Big strong heart.

Push the heavy shit. This is, as Ghostface said, “dedicated to rich niggas who sell weight.” All of us are already such rich niggas (I mean Nagus!). We have the weight of our own bodies to push and pull. Push ups. Pull ups. Dips. Lunges. Squats. Crunches. Leg Lifts. Acrobatics. Streeetch! If we have access to heavy weights, we powerlift. Clean and jerk. Push press. Snatch! We do multijoint motions like deadlift. Row. Bench.

SO NICE. This is physical veganism in the spring. It’s perfect. Freedom walks to sprints to kettlebells in the park or pickup games of basketball with other youth.

Physical veganism is CORREKT. So is vehicular veganism, driving the body! It’s yours! Do it till death. You may find life extraordinary. And do it DAILY like the papers.

Oh, and throw in some daily meditation and quiet mind time to clear the third eye and sleep and wake soundly.

Just some ideas from the Afrikan raw vegan.

DANCE WITH LIFE!

On Medjool Dates

So today was interesting. Before attending a critical planning meeting with some elders, I scoped out a capoeira class which met in bourgeois-ass Soho. But they asses didn’t start on time, so I left. I hate lateness, have no tolerance for CP-time and what not. Matter of fact for the record I’ma say it twice: motherfuck CP-time!!! And of all things to start late, a martial arts class? My kung fu never ever starts late. And I’ve only been late once – last week in fact. Time is of the essence! You see that quote over to the right now – take heed. Discipline is sweet like desert blues; indiscipline is bitter like the evening news.

So with extra time to kill I rode my bike up them snow-plowed Manhattan streets and popped into Westerly Natural Market (on 54th and 8th), all trendy and organic and shit. But I doubt I’ll ever go there again – $5.39 for 4.4 ounces of organic blueberries? The fuck are they smoking? They got them trendy white liberal prices – yes. Nonetheless I picked up some organic medjool dates, which I never had until today. Ten bucks for 13 ounces of them – sheeit! I said fuck it, lemme try this.

I almost wanna say it’s like candy (in good ways).

I munched on the dates all day and finished them as my dinner. They really something, so sumptuous, of a most delicate texture, uniquely and profoundly stimulating to an Afrikan palate. In other words, they the shit. I probably won’t go after them too often. They was grown in California, why they cost so damn much? Their expensive price is strongly related to where I bought them, methinks.

Dates are very serious foods. Raw vegans/ fruitarians can have maad fun. It’s a shame I wasn’t introduced to that shit much earlier in life; people been growing dates for thousands of years (in Afrika!). The conventional household is full of such a limited selection of foods. But the curious and adventurous fruitarian almost never runs out of species to taste and flavors to enjoy.

We fruitarians are living in a world of plenty, in other words the real world. Everyone else is stuck in plastic meat trays and cardboard cereal boxes.