On Quinoa and Psychosis: Why I want to go to Healthy Living Summit

Dear Readers: I want to go to Healthy Living Summit. Attune Foods is giving away one free ticket TOMORROW. You've heard me gripe for the last infinity months about my "healthy living" confusion; Let's hope this does the trick!

I’ve had so much quinoa in the last few months that even my sweat has all the essential amino acids to make a full protein, and I’m pretty sure my body is just shy of toxic Vitamin A levels from all the spinach I’ve been housing at the same time.

Over the past year, I’ve been blogging and reading and Whole Fooding my brains out to strive for a healthy lifestyle with increased energy, fitness, and, ultimately, happiness. I’ve read a lot of your stories, eaten organic, eaten gluten-free, eaten fat-free then eaten full-fat, and incorporated spinach into every meal short of dessert (never say never). But I have to admit, I’m not sure I feel any different. Not that organic graham crackers were an unwelcome alternative to Nabisco, just that … is the strain on my psyche and my wallet really worth the trouble?

My faithful blog readers have watched me transition from a high school cross country runner, to a college freshman, to a group fitness instructor; from carb loading, to all-salads-all-the-time, to discerning my monounsaturated fats from my polyunsaturated fats (...from my trans fats from my complex carbs from my simple carbs...you get the idea). Even as an angsty teenager, I knew I wanted to be healthy. But now, as a 20-something professional with an adult body and an adult life, I feel...unprepared. Confused. Exasperated. Starving. Full. Tired. Psychotic?

So what do healthy living and being attuned mean to me? I thought I knew. But I’m finding out now that … I don’t anymore!

In the past year, I’ve hit a wall. A fitblogging wall. I’ve lost my voice a little to a sea of screaming health dos and don’ts, and my writing has been soggy and uninspired. I don’t want to be that fitblogger who just fitblogs about her confusion; I want my vivacious voice back. So at only 5’3” and 111 pounds, I am determined to break my wall down. That’s where Healthy Living Summit comes in.

Above all my quinoa, sweat, Vitamin A, and confusion, one thing has remained: the unyielding desire to live the healthiest and happiest life I can possibly live. I know that doesn’t make me much different from any other person trying to win a free ticket to Healthy Living Summit, but the opportunity presents me with the push and inspiration I’ll need to get on my boxing/writing gloves and start breaking down my wall—one healthy-living blog post at a time.

A revelation: Not seeking men

My Dad likes to say "No worries." But, he's a dad, so he does worry, even as my younger sister and I become adults.

His latest worry - a couple months after the breakup of my two-year relationship - is that I don't meet any people with Y chromosomes. "Emma, if you spend all your time at yoga classes and dance studios, you are not going to meet any guys," he says.

(I actually stumbled over loosely quoting him there - what did he say? Men? Boys? Guys? I'm not sure. My brain isn't sure what to call who I would eventually like to date either. I'm 25 now - I should date exclusively men, right? This labeling question is stupid.)

I feel like I need to refer my dad to this blog circa fall 2008 to winter 2009.

And then I had a revelation: for the first time in a DECADE I do not feel the hyper-need to seek the attention of Y chromosomes.

I choose yoga and dance (which I EXTREMELY encourage men to try - and men ARE involved there - how did our culture turn this around so much?) because I need some "feminine" energy in my life. I crave fluidity, creativity, warmth and quietness as I heal and evolve into my adult self.

So, Dad, don't worry, I'm not done with men or relationships forever. And, by the way, Dad, men DO take part in some of these physical activities. And next time I go to a social event, maybe I won't avoid the eye of every man lustfully staring me down (see, Dad? You really don't want to hear the flip side). But in the meantime, seriously, don't worry. I consider this mindset a huge win.

On Naming a Puppy, Part II

Please enjoy a follow-up to OhMyTwin's "On Naming a Puppy."

Because a puppy is a one-time thing for the Brenners (and because we’re usually looking for an excuse to make anything a production), I showed up at home on Saturday evening for the arrival of the new addition. Before heading to the airport for my dad and his pet carrier filled with poop (and a puppy), my mom opened a bottle of wine and a pack of grocery store sushi for the two of us.

The cats hung out with us on the deck out back (since the grocery store sushi is arguably not real fish, they were mostly disinterested) for this last supper, with no idea that their innocent cat lives would soon be thrown into a tumultuous new vortex of different food in different food bowls that (they would soon find out) is not for cat consumption and will only make them vomit on the carpet (more than they already do).

As we should have anticipated sooner, the dog-naming emails had slowed down to a trickle after we had all done our best to pull out each other’s eyeballs over the internet. (Don’t worry; my sister still had time to point out that Tillie is the name of our dead step-great-grandmother, and therefore an inappropriate name for a new puppy— her final words on the subject were “If you name that dog Tillie I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL REVOLT.”) So in the climate of a family email revolt, we all mutually/dismissively decided the pressure was on my dad to make the final decision and save our family from permanent dysfunction. Or at least from its current dysfunction.

When my dad was a kid, he had a dog named Sparky who used to jump the fence and run away. Which means, pretty shortly, he had no dog named Sparky (which is a stupid name for a dog, and totally justifies my family’s desire to intervene this time around). After Sparky’s last (successful) bid for freedom, my dad never had another dog. But not because he didn’t want one. He definitely wanted another dog. A German Shepherd. Named Rin Tin Tin (thankfully, he passed his love of movies and pop culture on tenfold to his children). And even though my dad grew up without Rin, married a woman who hates dogs, and learned to put up with a type of animal whose poop stays indefinitely inside the house for you to deal with, he did not let go of the Rin Tin Tin dream.

So once the Great Brenner Family Dog-Naming Email Revolt of 2011 fizzled, my dad suggested a new name: Rinnie.

Rinnie, my parents’ new Corgi, is not necessarily the opposite of a male German Shepherd (luckily for my dad, my mom has never expressed any interest in Toy Poodles or Bijons, or something equally as fluffy). For all intensive purposes, she’s close enough. And, eventually, she’ll poop outside.

Although we all agreed that, if each of us had the opportunity to name our own dog it would probably land on Toula or Gidget or Cho Chang (or Rinnie Tin Toula—which my mom insisted on calling the puppy from the moment she entered the house anyway), “Rinnie” is Dad’s dog. And if he wants to name his dog after a celebrity animal from the 1930s, that’s probably about as fitting as it’s going to get.

When the name was finally chosen and my mom had put a moratorium on further discussion, we all got the following email from my sister:

“I’m going to call her Rin and Rinnerz for fun (and to eliminate her sounding like Whinnie the Pooh). GET USED TO THAT, DAD.”

Embrace live music & dance

Recently, I've been looking for funny stories; looking for excuses to come back here A YEAR LATER (thank you to Fancy and Passion for rocking it). I keep hoping something particularly interesting will happen in the work bathroom so I can then also blog about all those small, barely awkward things that happen in the work bathroom all the time and everyone will be like LOL I KNOW RIGHT.

But of course, life doesn't work that way. So instead, last night I was innocently at Iota, meeting a long-lost friend (seriously, I don't think I've laid eyes on her in two years) who was up for a musical adventure to see Ben Sollee, a gawgeous folksy cellist. I've particularly fallen for Ben because as I scoured YouTube for videos of his music, I stumbled across two videos that particularly featured dancers. Any musician who supports dancers as much as dancers obsessively use music as their artistic inspiration (duh!) is automatically a billion times cooler in my book.

About an hour into the show, when everything is really gelling and the audience is properly loosened, Ben said something about how little pockets of people would dance for a second, then stop, and the group of people next to them would dance for a second, then stop, and the shiver would be passed around the crowd. And I yelled out like an idiot (because who doesn't just yell out random crap at concerts?!) like "Yay dancers! Tell us about the dancers in your music videos!"

I was way the hell in the back. I was literally leaning up against the back wall, behind a center vertical separation wall which is annoying in Iota and pretty much blocks half of the audience's view from oh I don't know THE PERSON YOU'RE THERE TO SEE.

Somehow anyway, Ben heard me, and was like "What about dancers?" And I was tipsy and totally did not remember the name of the song for the music video I had seen and I yelled out over the entire crowd, like, "You know? The one with choreography? There's a woman? And there is dancing?" And he was all like "Ha was I THERE? A music video with women? What?" And I was all like "With the STRINGS! THE STRINGS!" (she's dancing with strings in the music video) and I'm sure he assumed I meant like stringed instruments and was thinking "duh I'm a cellist stupid drunk chick of course there were strings" and laughed and made some other joke and carried on with the next song.

During the next song, some woman came up to me and said "The music video you were thinking of was Embrace, I'm not going to yell it out or anything, but you can." And then just to be sure I did a quick iPhone YouTube search of "Ben Sollee Embrace" and there it was! Come on BEN! You don't remember all your music videos and cherish their memories and know what I'm talking about? You should be prepared for every random outburst at your live shows by refreshing your own personal history in your brain!

So since the Internet had been both the source of this downfall and also answered all the simple questions I had, I turned to it again to attempt to correct my live show faux pas.

I tweeted. I @-replied Ben. Sure did!

"@bensollee The great thing about Iota - I yelled out and didn't expect you to hear! I was talking about the video for Embrace!"

Long after the amazing show had ended, I had walked through Clarendon, had refused to make eye contact with young men who made comments about how they loved the color yellow (I was wearing a yellow dress), had hailed a cab and finally got home and fell asleep, Ben got back to me. Yay Twitter! (Twitter is pretty much the reason why I have no problem referring to him on a first-name basis in this blog post.)

"@emmajoan Oh yeah, she's a principal dancer for the North Carolina Dance Theater... she did a great job performing in that tiny space." 

Now the thing is, that is totally kind and sweet of him to actually dignify my show-awkwardizing comment + tweet, and he had complimentary words for the dancer, but I still have a little issue with this whole thing:

A) The dancer and/or choreographer were not mentioned in the credits of the YouTube video. The director was, and the musician was of course, and probably even the producer, but not the performer?

B) He still did not name her in his Tweet. 

Look, dancers are performers too who thrive off of getting their actual name out there! Use it! Flaunt it! Be proud of working with other artists!

But that is a rant that I will save for my dance blog, which I have not posted on in oh, six months. 

Now go watch the Embrace video and go see Ben Sollee if you get a chance because he's adorable and extremely talented and this videography is really gorgeous. 

My Butt Would Look So Much Better With a Bustle

Right?!

Okay, maybe not. It can be a little extreme, don't you think?

Throughout my life, the fashions of other eras have fascinated me. I can easily pinpoint each style and time period to what I was reading or watching at the time:

• 1st grade onward: The Sound of Music = just below the knee skirt that twirled (words cannot express how devastated I was that the Party Store didn't carry Liesl or Brigitta costumes for Halloween)
• 3rd/4th grade: American Girl Felicity books = bonnets and petticoats
• 5th/6th grade: Gettysburg = hoop skirts (achieved this during Halloween)
• 7th grade: Singin' in the Rain = flapper dresses (another Halloween success)
• 8th grade onward: Anne of Green Gables series and Road to Avonlea = Edwardian dresses

I think my most recent style obsession is much more conventional: Mad Men and those beautiful dresses. I would happily accept the wardrobe of Betty Draper, though maybe not her life.

Today there is a pretty wide variety of fashion that is seen as acceptable and some of the previously mentioned styles have maneuvered their way into current clothing. I remember feeling so excited when puffed sleeves on blouses appeared, fulfilling my Anne of Green Gables dreams. And I could easily get away with a 1960s style dress at work and a 1920s inspired frock for a night out. Hoop skirt? Not so much.

Part of my obsession with vintage fashion stems from my love of pretty clothes; the other part comes from my desire to live in another era. I don't always feel comfortable in this millenial generation:

• I'm not a fan of texting.
• I don't/can't tan. (Back in the day, fair skin was prized, as a tan meant you worked outside.)
• I'm quite reserved.
• I prefer organized parties. You know, where I could go meet the new residents of Netherfield Park. None of this bar/club shenanigans.
• I want to have visitors come calling and offer them cake and tea that I've already prepared!

Maybe I've just been watching and reading too many period dramas lately, which, of course, romanticize the very eras I so wish to belong to.

Now, there are plenty of reasons why I'm perfectly happy right where I am, such as with the rights I have now as a woman. Although my career aspirations as a writer could totally have worked in the 19th century, as long as I had a good male nom de plume. But as I said, I would not want the life of Betty Draper.

I'll just have to add in traces of yesteryear into my own life. I've been doing some vintage accessories shopping on Etsy. A necklace or a scarf are great ways to add some flair. And whenever I get a hankering to live the good old days, I'll just pull out my handy-dandy Kindle and read some good old classics. (Or my first edition Anne of the Island.)

On Dieting

This article was written for the healthy-living blog, Eats, Love and Happiness.

As I sat down to start writing, I crammed into my mouth a cheesy, oily, fluffy breadstick that came with the Italian takeout I picked up for dinner tonight. And as I was about to do the same with the second one, my fitbloggin brain stopped me. It seems that in the healthy-living media world, carbs are the devil’s snack, and I would have been much better off if my takeout had come with a side of homemade roasted chickpeas or warm quinoa salad instead.

As a former cross country runner and group fitness instructor, I’ve always been conscious of the food I eat. In high school it was all about carb loading at team pasta dinners the night before a race. In college, it was all about making salads, and the effort to avoid the freshman 15. And as a group fitness instructor, it was all about monounsaturated fats vs. polyunsaturated fats vs. trans fats, etc. Needless to say, I’ve run the gamut of fitness and health related diets.

And now, as a social mediaite and blogger, all of these worlds are colliding and smacking me square in the forehead. On top of everything I thought I already knew about healthy living and nutrition, I’m finding out more about products (coconut oil vs. olive oil) and recipes [substitute quinoa in recipes that call for rice, pasta, etc. -- it’s the miracle food! (see these blog post comments)] and popular diets (“paleo” -- see below). Simply put: I’m overwhelmed.

Over the past year, I’ve been blogging and reading and Whole Fooding like a champ to strive for a healthy lifestyle with increased energy, fitness, and, ultimately, happiness. I’ve read a lot of your stories, and eaten a ton of quinoa, and incorporated spinach into every meal short of dessert (never say never). But I have to admit, I don’t feel much different.

And it got me thinking -- is this actually working? Am I really “healthier” than I was when I was eating spaghetti for dinner two to three times a week? And most importantly -- does it make sense for someone who loves food as much as I do to cut out the things I love most? If my ultimate goal is happiness, shouldn’t I eat spaghetti and chocolate frequently?

I know how the saying goes -- “everything in moderation.” I know many of you will want to tell me that I should of course still eat spaghetti, but in moderation. OK. But during the non-moderation times, what should my core diet be?

My beloved boyfriend has been trying a “paleo” (aka “caveman”) diet for the last month. It was suggested to him as a challenge by his crossfit instructor, and essentially means he only eats what the cavemen ate -- meat, fish, veggies, fruit, and nuts; no dairy, grains, or refined sugars. I’ve been to a few of his crossfit classes and they are excellent. The trainer is not only a well qualified crossfit instructor, but he also understands how to guide people without making them feel uncomfortable, and offer modifications to those who need them. I could write several other posts about crossfit, but for now I’ll say it’s an extremely healthy and productive exercise plan, with an emphasis on setting and reaching goals. That being said, I think it is smart for my bf to take nutritional advice from his trainer, as long as he (my bf) understands his own body and doesn’t just jump into things without thinking about them. And with everything that I’ve learned about health and nutrition over the past 10 years, the paleo diet does seem like a pretty healthy option. BUT but but but but -- no grains means NO quinoa. Whaaa??? I thought quinoa was the miracle food?? The only non-animal product with all the essential amino acids? And all the nutrients!!! The crossfit trainer says that quinoa is no good because it’s a grain. I’m befuddled.

Now, I don’t necessarily think the crossfit dude is really saying quinoa is BAD BAD NO IT'S A GRAIN BAD STAY AWAY -- clearly we are no longer cavemen (or cavewomen...yay feminism), so it may have a totally legitimate place in our modern diets. But it IS interesting if quinoa is categorized with other grains such as rice because I tend to live and breathe by it, but tend to stay away from other grains.

Do you ever feel like there is too much information out there? I am struggling with figuring out what it really means to have a healthy diet.

So, I leave it to you:

• Paleo -- yay or nay?
• Spaghetti -- really that bad?
• Core diet of a true healthy-living blogger -- emphasis on protein or emphasis ongetting the correct amount of each food group?
• And, the one I am most hoping you will respond to: QUINOA -- the miracle food or just another pesky grain??

On Naming a Puppy

Please enjoy this special guest post from a special guest writer, who, for our purposes, we'll call "OhMyTwin."

***

FROM: April 7, 2011

I told myself I’d start writing again when I had something to write about. It’s been two years. I guess that’s the amount of time it takes to realize if you’ve got nothing to write about, you need to start writing about nothing.

Because the nothing is so overwhelming right now, it feels pretty important that my parents are getting a puppy (more accurately: my dad is getting a puppy; my mom has three cats that love to pee on the entire house when they’re threatened or bored). There are a lot of potential problems with this decision, but my present cause for concern is the incredible interest we’ve all taken in naming the puppy. My sister lives in Philly—decidedly out of the house. I’m not quite as far, maybe, but I’m far enough to know that my dad should name that puppy whatever he wants to name that puppy because he’s the one who will spend all retired day and all retired night in the house with that puppy, attempting to teach it not to shit in the foyer even with three cats suggesting it’s pretty much a free range.

Here was the first email from my sister, after she’d vetoed my mom’s pick (Cho Chang), and my dad’s choices (some Yiddish-influenced human names like Shayna):

Veruca Salt
Toula (!!!!!)
Oprah
Topanga (omg Aileen)
Nessa
Dobby
Liz Lemon
Yoko (just kidding)
Pippin
Columbia
Magenta
Janet
Dr. Scott
Janet
Brad
Rocky
Patty Mayonnaise (only Aileen will get this)
Pelly

I'm only really serious about Toula. But I would totally name a pet Pips, Pippin, or Topanga. Or Liz Lemon, my role model.

Several hours later, this followed:

Topanga is actually my top choice. Too bad Mom and Dad didn't grow up watching Boy Meets World. And that they don't love Los Angeles.

And, then, my dad:

I know about TV Topanga. I believe she's the one who finally got married.

In the next few days, my mom and dad moved on to suggest: Her Majesty, Tillie (short for Her Majesty Matilda), Fanny, Luna, and Gidget.

"Gidget" had been a top choice several days prior to the emails. We were doing what all well-adjusted immediate families do when all their members are in the same city at the same time to go out to dinner and are told there’s a 45-minute wait for a table—sitting in my parents’ parked car, sharing three paper cups, and drinking a bottle of wine my mom had picked up at Balducci’s earlier because it looked pretty good for a $15 bottle with a screw top. I said I felt pretty good about naming a Corgi something that makes me feel like getting ready for the summer's raddest bonfire on the beach with Moon Doggy. My dad said, “I must, I must, I must increase my bust.”

Eventually we decided to go wait inside the restaurant lobby like Americans.

The thing is…I like pretty much all of these names. I’m not going to pretend I don’t share the special delusions that only an immediate family can share. My only official vote (after Cho Chang was off the table) was for Fanny, but that was mostly because I felt like it was the underdog in the competition, and if there’s anything my dad taught me, it’s to root for the underdog when you have no idea what the fuck is going on.

The puppy is less than a month away. My sister put in another bid for Gidget earlier tonight. I sent out an email suggesting Ingrid Bergman, but apparently nobody else thought that was funny.

Addendum.
When I asked my sister to read my account of the puppy naming, she commented the following:

"What does location have to do with naming a puppy? Even if you were in Abu Dhabi and I was in Botswana I think we all would have done the same thing."

I have no doubt that she's right. I have several doubts about moving to Abu Dhabi.