As you watch our entirely corrupt government frolic and cavort like demons in the comfortable, dimly-lit hell of their political fever dream — prolonging an on-the-face-of-it sham impeachment (numero dos) with the effect of indefinitely delaying stimulus talks, while preventing us from orchestrating our livelihoods, while telling us we have to wear any number of masks from now until June at least, while telling us that the movement of Floridians will be disabled even as the movement of illegal aliens across our southern border will be enabled — remember, there’s Bitcoin. It’s refuge, it’s revenge, it’s the exit ramp we all need. I think this Tweet puts it best:
The illegitimate administration fiddling while Rome burns isn’t a curable condition, but getting the fuck out of fiat is.
Meanwhile, we’re dismantling racism in mathematics! “The concept of mathematics being purely objective is unequivocally false, and teaching it is even much less so. Upholding the idea that there are always right and wrong answers perpetuate [sic] objectivity as well as fear of open conflict,” explains Oregon’s new Equitable Math treatise.
I totally get, now, why my guitar teacher raged so hard about atonal music, all those years of private lessons. Atonal music sounds like shit, because it turns out that key signatures aren’t this entirely constructed form of colonial western violence. It turns out they have their basis in nature and, omg, mathematics. But if the concept of mathematics being objective is, actually, unequivocally false, then I guess key signatures and consistent tonal functions are just a construct. And if key signatures are just a construct, then I guess it’s racist, or elitist at the very least, for me to think that atonal music sounds like shit. However — atonal music sounds like shit, and I’d say that to a firing squad. So there you have it.
Everything is stupid, and the stupidest thing of all is me spending my time and my valuable brain calories remarking on it. Of course it’s that way — we’re in the prophesied time of The Great Spaghetti Throwing Against The Wall Of The Deep State Struggling To, Like, Not Even Retain Control, But Literally Just Remain Even Relevant. So, I guess I’ll turn off the faucet on the part of this stupidity I do have control over, right now in this moment, and focus on other stuff.
Just imagine all the times, though, in human history, when the powers-that-be went berserk and the citizens had no recourse to, for instance, Bitcoin. If I could have chosen any time in history to have lived and grown into adulthood, I don’t know what I would have picked because it all kind of sucked imo. So I guess I’m actually happy to be here, now, where for the first time in the history of money there’s a categorically different basket you can put it in, at least.
And like I said yesterday, time and reality themselves seem to be accelerating. I’m genuinely fascinated by what our situation will look like in, say, June or July. There’s never been a better time to think outside the box. The fiat box, the MSM box, the diet box, the functional fitness box omg, the medical box where you run around and put out symptom fires like a well-trained monkey.
Apropos of nothing, would you like to hear about my beauty regimen I do every Friday? I created it myself, and nothing gets my mind off the sounds Rome burning (insert epic fiddle solo here) like girl stuff. I love girl stuff.
Okay, SO I’ve been using this stuff called New Wash on my hair for about three months now. It’s marketed as an absolute non-detergent, replacing both shampoo and conditioner, and actually a host of other hair products that you don’t need anymore if you’re not constantly trying to recuperate your hair from chronic use of detergent. For men with short hair, I know this is mostly a moot point, but for cervix-having front hole people with long hair, that shit represents six or eight years of growth. And before you cry gender presumption, guess what: I’ve met lots of men with long hair, and men’s hair and eyelashes and skin and everything is always just naturally better than women’s.
There is a reason why drag queens and trans women often turn out more stunning than their cisgendered sisters. The whole deal with being a biological female is that our body always thinks it’s on the verge of getting pregnant. Any moment, omg! Quickly now, accumulate more fat on the ass and thighs! Retain more water in the upper arms and lower belly! Spike the hormones and damn the adult acne, full speed ahead! Release the aromas, this vulva ain’t gonna impregnate itself! And every month, this whole jalopy tachs out, whether pregnancy occurs or not, and it never loses hope. It never loses hope. It’s like the Qanon of biology.
So cisgendered males, whose hair and lashes and skin is always perfect because why wouldn’t it be, are always like “smh why do women spend all this money on all this stuff” and, for us, constantly being blown up by our estrogenic landmines, every fucking month, we’re just trying to make the stars align so that there can be one brief, shining moment, maybe two days a year, where we’re not bloated, we’re not retaining water, we’re not bleeding out of our vaginas, we’re not breaking out on our faces, we’re not between shaves or waxes, we’re not growing out our bangs, our nipples aren’t sore, and we have a tan.
Be that as it may — three months into my New Wash experiment, I can highly recommend. I only use it like twice a week, Fridays and Tuesdays. I came to Hawaii with the most fucked up hair of my life, and probably the most fucked up hair of anyone’s life, so re-habbing it has been…a deal. I made the mistake of trying to get important things done to my hair, in the wrong town.
Anyway, so every Friday I put the New Wash on my hair — and our shower is actually this entire room with a jungle mural painted on the inside of it, and open air at the top, and tile floor, and a soaking tub, and like multiple shower nozzles mounted in multiple places so it can be like a shower-shower or like a waterfall shower or a gentle artesian well shower, whatever you want. It’s ridiculous. So I stand there and I coat my hair in New Wash, massage my scalp really well, rub it all through the length, twist it up and pin it. Then I exfoliate the bejeezus out of my entire body to get off LAST FRIDAY’s fake tan — more on that later — and use whatever soap on my face and body, I think fancy soaps are a scam. Then, water off, towel dry hair, Aveda Clove conditioner at the roots to mids, keratin leave in treatment mids to ends, twist up, shower cap, microwaveable heated hot treatment cap on top of that.
Then I mix up this once-weekly facial by Hanacure, which becomes very uncomfortable after about 20m on the face; meanwhile, Coco & Eve fake tanner mousse. The key point there being, I just don’t tan. I look good with a tan, but if it ain’t fake it ain’t happening. It lasts exactly about a week, except in the places where I scratch bites, so that’s fine. I’m in the land of dresses and skirts here so having a fake tan is no longer a seasonal consideration. Then scrub off facial, moisturize face with a few drops of the Coco & Eve facial tanner, and I just leave my hair up in the ordeal for as long as is reasonable. The longer the better.
I’m really happy with my hair, despite everything. I’ve moved away from getting the roots colored, and I do have gray that tries to show a little, but the Aveda Clove conditioner is so much better for my hair, and the weekly hot keratin treatments have amazingly restored all the sleek bouncy shine. It’s a pretty good deal overall — healthier, cheaper, and more effective than the primarily chemical-based stuff I was doing before the hair apocalypse of 2020. I do go to the salon and get a professional keratin reconstruction every couple of months, and I’ve been taking keratin gummy vitamins, and overall I’ve seen a lot of growth and renewed vibrance in the last three months. My goal is to just grow a long rope of hair that I can braid and otherwise leave alone, honestly.
The combo of the Hanacure weekly facial and the equatorial climate here has made me look almost like someone who *didn’t* earn her living, standing out in the Southwestern sun and wind doing truck stuff the last many years. It’s a pleasant surprise to find myself looking prettier, more relaxed, and softer (skin wise) at 44 than I was at 34, so something’s going right.
I guess that’s about it. Nick and I are dialing in our meal prep, and I ordered a bunch of additional pyrex food storage containers so that can be a once-weekly thing. It was nice this morning to just grab one from the fridge — all pre-weighed comprised of homemade seitan, brown rice, large lima beans, and green beans — heat it up and douse it in Hatch green enchilada sauce, fresh tomatoes and avocado. Reminds me of big messy Southwestern breakfast platters at Martanne’s in Flagstaff, actually. That plus two bananas and a Kind bar, and I’m about ready to deadlift here in 45m or so.
I feel this blog is becoming increasingly specific and probably boring for the average person but whatever, I get to talk about whatever I want to talk about on my blog so I’ll go ahead and say: I discovered an amazing thing, food prep wise!
First I have to explain: when you make homemade seitan, it’s essentially these delicious meaty dumplings of dough, packed with fresh garlic and flavor, that you then immerse in a broth and simmer for an hour. The end result is a bunch of yummy fake meat that’s super high in protein, AND a really flavorful broth.
So, my discovery was that, on weekly meal prep days, I can make the seitan first, then cook the limas in the same broth for max flavor (InstaPot), THEN cook the green beans in that broth for max-max flavor flavor, THEN use that broth to rehydrate dried arame, which is a really delicious sea vegetable that can be mixed with grated veggies and tofu for a high protein salad that’s mega-jam-packed with micronutrients. Sea veggies are the deal. (And we add spirulina powder to our popcorn and fruit smoothies.) I don’t know if the excitement of one broth flavoring four different items is as exciting to you as it is to me, but color me thrilled.
Then, we plugged in all the ingredients into our calorie tracker app for all the dishes and weighed the totals (the entire batch of seitan, the entire batch of rice, etc.) so it was really easy to use the gram scale and just distribute everything by weight, slap the lids on, stow it in the fridge-slash-freezer, and done.
I guess, if I haven’t entirely lost you, the part of competition prep that I was actually dreading the most was getting the food situation dialed in. The normal way I eat is so, like…random and not regimented. But the food is the fuel driving the whole operation forward, so it’s what separates the 95% from the 5%, obviously. I mean, I’ve been reading blogs from professional prep coaches who have multi-title Olympian clients, and the way they talk about this stuff is just fascinating. This one guy — whose client is basically a comic book hero woman, completely unrealistic except she’s real — is like, “she’s at her lightest in the off season, eats a generous diet of [I’m sorry but fucking SPECIFIC] macros, and enjoying easy 45m workouts.” (I don’t think life with Nick will ever consist of enjoying easy 45m workouts, spoiler alert.) “Then 30 weeks out we do this, monitor, add x calories protein per week as training ramps up, monitor for the point of diminishing returns, back down to optimal level 6 weeks out, train train train, cut cut cut, compete, slay the competition, repeat.” It’s a science, and a really interesting science, which has so many moving parts that it becomes almost more of…an art?
And for sure our system will have to evolve and adapt over time, but what I’m trying to say is I’ve had the paradigm shift, or most of it, and it should all be pretty easy from here on out. Nick and I were weighing out the grams on everything, together, and I said to him, “Imagine being a celebrity client, where *someone else* just does all this shit for you.” It would be nice, but it’s even nicer to learn how to do it for myself, steep as the learning curve is.
The fly in the ointment, as always, is fire season. It involves even more question marks than usual, this year, because we’re preparing to own and operate our own equipment, for the first time ever. We’ll have barbell stuff with us, at least, and I guess we’ll take our gram scale and just figure it out.
We love Hawaii but we’re both looking forward to being on the open road again. Pulling a trailer across miles and miles of interstate and reservation and across state lines and watching the sun come up and the sun go down. It’s an odd thing to miss, right? I would not have expected to miss that. A lot of our fire season was made up of the family convoy, you know? The tractor trailer, the chase truck and trailer, the little dogs, the truck stops, the rest areas, the bad directions, the GPS going out, driving through the towns and cities in the day time, in the nighttime. Nobody letting us pee because COVID. We went behind the trailer and peed all over the damn western United States. We just stopped trying, honestly. All these gas stations with police tape over their restrooms, as if that makes any sense. Whatever.
Well, we figured out how to fire season with other people’s equipment AND barbell with our little dogs, last season. This season, we’ll figure out how to do it with our equipment AND barbell AND diet prep, and obviously little dogs. Stashing the excess in Bitcoin all the way along, no doubt.
Some pictures for the heck of it: