Saturday, May 31, 2014
This is the smoothie for when you are determined to make unreasonable demands of your smoothie; when you want it to contain a full serving of greens and huge amounts of vitamin c; when you want it to have enough protein to keep you satisfied all morning; when you want it to nudge your brain chemistry towards the sunny side, to open your eyes, to please your tastebuds, to quicken your pulse. It seems like an awful lot to ask from a smoothie, but lovesmiths asked, and many blenders-full later we cried eureka.
Strawberry Banana Smoothie
1 and 1/2 cups strawberries (I like frozen for a milkshake-like texture)
1 banana (frozen if possible, but I always forget and it's fine)
1/2 cup micro-greens or sprouts
2 heaping tablespoons hemp seeds
2-3 tablepsoons raw cacao powder (or cocoa powder, not as delicious but still good)
1 1/2 cup non-dairy beverage (almond, soy, or my favorite - coconut)
Combine in blender and blend until smooth. Drink immediately. Now go get 'em, tiger.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
My dad tells me he beat this guy up at a party because he’d never heard of Bob Dylan. That’s how strong his love was. He tells me love is always enough of a reason. It was 1966, the year before I was born, and my dad was a radical civil rights activist living in Nashville, Tennessee. There is a picture of him and my mother from that year, each holding acoustic guitars, smiling big smiles and gazing into each other’s eyes. Playing Dylan songs, I’d guess. Did either of them think: I might hate you in five years?
The details of the beating-up incident are fuzzy. I wonder, what was his poison back then. And what is it now?
The thing I can’t figure out is why I love this story so much, why it makes me happy. Why I can relate to it unquestioningly. It’s not like I go around hitting people. I’ve never hit anyone.
The last time I went to a party, everybody there except me was an evangelical Christian. There were guitars, but no violence.
I work with this Welsh philosophy student. He told me he hates Bob Dylan. Thinks he’s overrated. Listen, I said, my dad once punched a guy for not knowing Bob Dylan. If there’s a gene for that, I’ve got it. So look out.