Day 15, Friday: Tell us what you've learned from this experience

Breakfast consists of a falafel patty and a hunk of “chocolate.” There is only one piece of chocolate left, and the immediate need for strict rationing is obvious. Around lunch, I polish off the last piece, eliminating the burden of such extreme measures. Unfortunately, I have also eliminated candy from the next fifteen days of my life.

I make a small pot of lentils and spinach, and eat them for lunch and dinner.

Today is a pretty big day! I’ve managed to go 15 days without breaking down! But what does all this mean? I went into this thinking it would be some big life changing experience, really giving me a glimpse into what life was like for the less fortunate. So here I am, half way, and at what appears a good time to step back and examine what I have learned thus far. How has all this affected* me?

In their blog, the original 30/30 couple describes their experience as “transformative.” In the interest of time, it would be nice to cut and paste their feelings and adopt them as my own, changing a word here and there, not dissimilar to my freshman year research paper on Canterbury Tales. Unfortunately, I can’t do this for two reasons. (1) they don’t really elaborate, so there aren’t enough words to transpose and call my own, and (2) I think their heads are up their never tested on animals, steroid and pesticide free asses, and I won’t pretend to have such a sudden, exaggerated insight into the psyche of the poor.

Their easy use of the word “transformative” is both surprising and sadly comedic to me. Basically, I'm supposed to buy the idea that going on a diet has somehow opened a door of enlightenment for these people, granting them access to some deep insight into the lives of the poor? Um, no.

If they really want to understand, maybe they could have three kids and each work two minimum wage jobs to pay for their food, clothing, and a run-down two-bedroom apartment in the ghetto. Then, for the full effect, struggle to stay awake during the 45 minutes a day they’ll get with their children, trying to catch them up on the education that they’re barely receiving at Inner-City Central High. Oh, and don’t forget to worry about the fact that, even if Jr. manages to get into college, unlike you, who had to drop out in 11th grade because Medicaid didn’t cover in-home care for your father, there won’t be any money to pay for school.

Granted, the above scenario might be difficult to recreate, so I’ve thought of a few, simpler techniques. Don't paying any utility bills, and see how many days you can live without power and water (in colder climates, insight points are given for time endured without heat.) If really dedicated, quit your job. Try to stay cheerful at your new job waiting tables at Denny’s, and don’t fall asleep during your graveyard shift at Ingles, despite the excruciating boredom of stocking shelf after shelf of nonperishables, especially on three-and-a-half hours of sleep. If possible, get really sick and become unable to work, much less pay your medical bills.

I know this sounds particularly harsh, but as I think it’s safe to assume they’ll never read my blog, I don’t feel any moral responsibility to spare their feelings. I’ll lay it on you straight: Those guys were spoiled P-words. Oh, I’m so sorry for you that you had to give up organic produce! Even before starting the 30/30, I view any fresh produce as a luxury. It’s seriously not that bad, people! Sure, the first couple of days were a hurdle, but that’s because I’m so used to over-eating. After fighting through the first few days of hunger, it didn’t suck too big. I’m getting all the nutrition and calories I need, and I’ll definitely have food left in the end.

At this point, I haven’t noticed any of the physical or emotional changes they spoke of in their blog. I can't see any strains on my relationship with Adam. I imagine, however, that the diet might serve as a convenient excuse for those inclined to argue under better circumstances.

So what is my half way point analysis? I guess, if anything, the experience was transformative in that I realized I eat like a cow, and pretty much all my social relationships are built around food and drink. I know I sound like a bitch, and I’m sorry. I’m honestly glad for the attention they’ve brought to the cause, and I’m happy people want to take their social justice classes and learn about what goes on in the world beyond our middle class bubble. But I don’t feel the experiment makes any revolutionary or groundbreaking point. We already knew being poor sucks.

But then, perhaps my thinking is flawed and my criticisms are indicative of a malnourished brain. Maybe the transformative revelations come later in the month.

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*I am unapologetic for the fact that I often use affect when I mean effect. I have given up trying to distinguish between the two, since it takes more work for me to figure out which is proper in a given situation, than it does for the listener to figure out what I mean.

Day 13, Wednesday: Thanks a lot, Biotch

This post has been deleted, because unlike the person it was directed towards, I have a conscience.

Day 12, Tuesday: The Recession isn’t just another mediocre Young Jeezy album

I’ll be the first to admit that the peas and spinach were garbage when I made them, and a week of stewing in their own blandness hasn’t improved the initial product. In fact, they’ve somehow managed to amplify their tedium, creating a cruel anti-taste vortex for your taste buds to ignore. While only slightly more refreshing than a handful of sand thrown in the face, the mush is at least filling, dutifully fulfilling food’s most basic purpose like a retarded but obedient servant. I want to throw it away, sooooooo badly. Zero waste, I tell myself. I summon up my inner Jedi and work towards choking down the last of the batch.

The offending shades of olive swirl lethargically, mixing unapologetically with the hunter green spinach to form a tasteless camo-gruel. I imagine if pea & spinach mush was ever lost in the jungle, it would be well hidden from his enemies, but would probably bore itself to death.

I am captivated by the fierce ongoing competition between Pea Mush Flavor and Pea Mush Appearance, both of which seem to be vying intensely for the title of Grand Chancellor of Bland, while at the same time coexisting in a perfect state of semi-viscous/mildly gelatinous harmony. The dreariness of my breakfast is only magnified by the drone of the news commentary spilling out of the living room television. All this talk these days about Dow Jones being down, lay-offs and recession is such a drag.

I am particularly concerned about the havoc this mess is wreaking on the hip-hop community. When Young Jeezy starts spouting lines like ''it's the recession, everybody broke,'' we ALL have cause to worry. I don’t know about you, but unless he’s under indictment for murder or running a dog fighting ring, I NEVER want to hear a rapper admit to even the slightest strain on his finances. I think it’s safe to say that if T.I. isn’t buying more diamonds, I’m not eating.

What the hell Jeezy, do you realize the chaos you are about to unleash on us? The American people have placed their trust in you, and you go around talking like that? How are we supposed to dance suggestively to a rap about the economy? I’m not saying you’re not qualified to comment on the matter. Hell, the mere fact that you have seen more than one $100 bill at the same time probably makes you more qualified than me. I’m just saying that you, of all people, shouldn’t go around scaring us with this intimidating talk about fiscal insecurity.

Jeezy, I hope you don't find this condescending, but its clear you’ve forgotten what it is that we, the American people, called on you for. You have three responsibilities in this world, and you're messing it up for the rest of us. All we ask is that you (1) keep buying more cars, trucks, villas, bling, fur coats, etc., thereby infusing the economy with much needed capital, (2) keep cranking out hit after mediocre hit with irresistibly catchy hooks, leading us like grown and sexy lambs to the booty club, thereby infusing the economy with much needed capital, and (3) keep being cool as fuck, inducing every last one of us to slave all week at Kinko’s or North Cobb Middle School, or Burger King, cranking out two-sided copies, detention slips and Angry Whoppers like you put out #1 hits, in a wasted endeavor to keep up with the Diddy’s, thereby infusing the economy with much needed capital.

So go ahead and do it. We know you’re coming out with a new clothing line next week, rendering the hat I drove all the way out to the Mall of Georgia last weekend on my only day off to get, an obsolete fashion dinosaur. That’s okay, I’ll go back. I heard they’re playing Planet Earth on the Imax screen there, and that sounds cool.

See, Jeezy! See how I’ve already forgotten how dull and meaningless my lower middle class life is? Sex, color, creed, race, national origin, or sexual orientation matters not when we come together in celebration of your works, writhing ecstatically on the dance floor with other drunken sweaty strangers, safe in the knowledge that next week will bring us a brand new jam. YOU, Jeezy are the unifying force. So remember, stick to the three rules, and rap about things that make us happy, like bitches, bling, slinging and sex. Under no conditions should you ever again rap about anything political.* The power is yours. Use it wisely.

Oh, if the mood or the beat catches you and you find yourself waxing poetic in some public place,(which I seriously doubt you're capable of) stick with the happy topics, and for God's sake keep your fear-mongering politikey shit at home. You’re scaring the children. You’re scaring me. I barely got down my black beans and rice at lunch.

Dinner of black beans and rice with Cajun seasoning. I am saddened to find that it is still nastay!
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*The exception, as always, is that any derogatory statements pertaining to W or McCain are encouraged, constructive or otherwise.