Yes, We Can...

...afford to eat better.

The professor in my argument class this quarter decided that our main focus should be health care because of the timeliness of the issue. Like we can't just flip on the television and hear about that--but whatever. We had to write several essays related to health care and have class-wide discussions on it.

My first essay focused on why our health care costs so much--more than twice what it does in other industrialized nations, in fact. The answer seems to be that we are sue-happy and, more important, very unhealthy due to a really crappy diet. Obesity and related problems create up to half of our national health care bill. That's not counting things like type 2 diabetes that are closely tied to but not entirely caused by obesity.

My second essay discussed how we can change this. I said that if we are really serious about it, we need to treat junk foods like another famously harmful substance: tobacco. According to my research, the average obese person has health care costs far exceeding a smoker. So why are we serving junk food in our school cafeterias? Why can people buy chips and soda with food stamps? Why don't we tax these foods and make them illegal on school campuses?

My teacher wrote a note on my paper suggesting that most Americans can't afford healthy foods. And I say: Yes, we can.

Convenience foods cost more than whole foods per pound, and they seem to be the culprits in our expanding waistlines. People think that dollar menus are cheaper than cooking, but are they really? Sure, it's hard to beat one dollar for a burger, but no one is getting fat from that two hundred calorie burger. They are getting fat from a larger, three or four dollar burger, along with two dollar supersized fries and a large Coke. A single value meal is around six dollars, about the cost for a healthy homemade dinner for your whole family.

People in third world countries eat better than we do and have lower rates of diet-related disease, because they can't afford our crappy diet. Americans have more expendable income than most Europeans, who also manage to eat better. Anyway, whole foods are cheaper than Frankenfood if you look beyond out of season pomegranates and radicchio. So it's counterintuitive to suggest that money is the issue.

I think time and laziness are the issue. I'm not saying fat people are particularly lazy, but that we all are in this country. Some people are blessed with metabolisms that can handle all the extra calories and the sedentary lifestyle, others are not so lucky. And none of us feel like dedicating an hour to cooking in the evening, although many of us do it anyway. It's easier, albeit more expensive, to just open a box. And therein lies the problem.

We do have the money--beans and rice are cheap. We do have the time as well, for the most part. Most people feel like they have no time, but when their favorite TV show comes on, suddenly time is in surplus. We spend time on the phone, time shopping for things we don't really need, time waiting in fast food lines. It's only when it comes time to throw the beans in the crockpot that we get all short on time. Suddenly we don't have even a minute, unless that minute is spent in a McDonald's drive-thru.

If you aren't working, or even if you are, you have time--as much or more time than I do, at least. We can eat healthy. Yes, we can. To borrow another famous tagline: just do it.

There are a few caveats here. If you are feeding yourself on less than $5 a week, then you will be relying on ultra-cheap, ultra-unhealthy foods like ramen. But you won't get fat... you'll have a hard time just getting enough calories to survive. Obesity comes from eating too much--way too much--for a period of years, not from spending a few tight months eating from a Styrofoam cup. Also, organics do cost more. But you won't get obese from eating a conventionally grown apple.

In one of our class discussions, a girl said she and her one year old live on fast food because she is too busy as a single mother to cook and she can't afford better food anyway. But she gets her nails done every week and has a constant flow of new clothes and Coach handbags. She has time and money to shop and watch someone airbrush her nails. Just not the time to eat healthy.

It's not her fault, either. Every time you turn on the TV, some expert is claiming that Americans are fat because we can't afford the money and time for a healthy diet. People are being encouraged to make unhealthy choices and told that they have no control over something as basic as what they put in their mouth. But we all have the choice. We all have the option to eat well. Say it with me: Yes, we can.

The Joys, and Trials, of Freelance Writing

As much as I love being able to make a living from home, there are a few things that bother me about freelance writing. Most of them fall into the following categories:

Repeat Work: Repeat jobs are like a so-so gift handed to you in a beautifully wrapped package. Don't get me wrong; I want those repeat jobs, because they make up a decent percentage of my living. However, I find it hard to write on the same subject indefinitely. Last year I wrote so much about soccer that I am now an expert despite never having donned a jersey. Right now I am doing my fourth job for a design agency, writing about (you guessed it) design. I feel guilty for being so tired of both topics.

If you are a client, yes, I still want the repeat work.

Random Ratings: At one agency I work for, both the customer and an employee of the agency rate each complete job. The customers here are invariably positive, but the employees are harsh. One gave me a low rating for misspellings, but I was supposed to write the article using misspelled keywords. It was to take advantage of people misspelling things in search engines. This is not an uncommon search engine optimization strategy, so the employee should have known--and they would have if they had read the directions I was given like they are SUPPOSED to.

In another ratings snafu, a client accidentally rated me too low on Elance. They didn't understand the parameters of the scale. Their written evaluation is nothing short of gushing, but because few people leave reviews this one negative number rating has lowered my six month satisfaction rate from 100% to 75%. Ouch. These low ratings affect my ability to get other work, so it's very concerning.

I don't mean to complain about a job that has been nothing short of a blessing, but like all jobs it has its frustrations. If you want to join me in wondering how much you could possibly write about logo design or , here are a few links to places where you can get money for freelance writing:

Textbroker
Elance
Go Freelance
Squidoo

My Super Sweet 31

As far as birthdays go, this one wasn't exactly a bomb. It wasn't great either, but it was just sufficient enough that I feel guilty about being so t-ed off about it.

Phone calls: 0
Presents: 0
Cards: 2, both generic type cards bought by my husband at the grocery store that day when he was there for something else
Dinner: Kentucky Fried Chicken. Did I mention I don't really like KFC? The extra crispy breasts are decent if I have no other choices, but my dh always buys original and all dark meat. I don't trust the gravy, so I ate a biscuit with "buttery spread" and a little mac and cheese. I always wonder what that "buttery spread" actually is, since I'm sure they would call it margarine or butter if they legally could. Maybe it's made of steroids, because I gained four pounds. No kidding. Even if the chicken had been super delicious, I have given up meat for a few months for a big long novena I'm involved in.

So, here's a rundown of my day. We awoke early, went to church with the kids, then came home and changed. DH had to run to the store. He took two of the kids and was gone fffooorrreevvveeerrr. So there was hope, I thought, because he could have fit an extra errand in there. I mean, he went to the store around the corner, was gone an hour and a half, and came home with bread.

I took Grace to the farmer's market where I witnessed a woman with one baby--just one--being assisted with said baby by no less than four family members. I vaguely know her, and I bet she gets a lot of help. She's the type who expects to be catered to. And I hate her for it (not for expecting the help, but for actually getting the help; that's unforgiveable). My family is in another state, and my husband wouldn't even go with me. He thinks he is doing me a favor by keeping the baby, who was sleeping.

He made a big deal that I shouldn't worry about making dinner. In our house, I am the only one who makes dinner EVER, the only one who cleans EVER, the only one who does laundry EVER. Even on my birthday. So I thought he had something up his sleeve. I was thinking maybe he would take me out to this new-ish Indian restaurant I've been wanting to visit.

Grace needed a swimsuit, and we're particular about them because I don't want my baby girl looking like a hoochie, like everyone's daughters seem to nowadays we have modesty issues. So I took her to Costco, where all the swimsuits were either too small or bikinis, then to two cheaper stores, and finally to Macy's. There, we found the ugliest darn swimsuit I have ever seen, but it's a modest-enough one piece that my daughter will wear because it has Hannah Montana across the front in metallic gold. And it was on clearance.

When I arrived home, my older stepson was there visiting, the one we usually pay for babysitting. This supported my theory that I was going out. Six o-clock rolled around and I asked my husband if I should make something for dinner. He said no, that he was picking something up. He left.

I was a little disappointed not to be getting away from the kids for the first time since last September (!!!yes, it has been THAT LONG!!). But whatever. There are a lot of good restaurants out there. Okay, let me rephrase that: there are a lot of edible restaurants. This is, after all, still Yakima.

So, he came home with the KFC, and we ate and then I opened my cards, and that was it. Happy Birthday. He went to bed early because he was too tired to watch TV with me after... whatever he did yesterday.

Did you know KFC for my family costs like $50? It only adds to the pain.

I'm not really upset about the birthday itself. In my family, birthdays just aren't a big deal. My husband, on the other hand, makes a huge issue of his birthdays. He was all crabby this year because he knew what he was getting (he had to know, because it was a ski pass). He's gotten mad at me for making cards--he has this thing for Hallmark, like if you really really love someone, you will only buy them a namebrand card.

Neither of my cards was Hallmark, of course.

I can't help but feel that this is not just a birthday, but a symptom of something larger. I feel like I am disappearing, like I have become a utilitarian object whose greatest attribute is that I perform well and don't give anyone problems. It makes me wish I was a bitchy, demanding type who wouldn't go to the farmer's market without an entourage, who would get mad at my husband for buying the wrong handbag or a sweater not in my size. At least someone who didn't sit down and pick at their KFC and tell their husband thank you. But I'm not that woman. And maybe I should buy my own present, but I tried that last year and it didn't cheer me up any.

So that's my birthday, folks. Hardly worth an MTV reality show; barely worth a Cymbalta commercial.