Best bit from the story:
For some, the choice was easy. One Quintessence regular posted an irate e-mail to a local raw-food list, arguing for a boycott of Hoyt's eateries. Other adherents believe he simply fell off the program. "I don't think he was eating totally raw," one wrote.
Best bit from the story? How about this?
Hoyt, who's five-three and light pink, is prying the top off a young coconut. "Just look at that meat," he says, poking around with a knife. "It's really, really soft and fleshy." He dumps the coconut water into a blender, adds a few macadamia nuts and a glop of raw vanilla extract. He presses a button. The machine whirs. Twenty seconds later, I'm sipping a beverage Hoyt calls nut milk. "High alkaline," he says. "Really good for you."
Nut milk!
Yeah, it's really, really hard to pin down a "best bit" from that story.
I bet people really did voice support to him. Imagine a good friend of yours got caught beating off on the subway. He's always seemed like a nice guy, and you're not really worried about personally having to see his weiner. What smalltalk are you going to make the next time you see him? "Yeah man, it was totally wrong for her to take your picture. But that's the age we live in now. There are cameras everywhere. There's no privacy!"
This might make a pretty good one act, now that I think about it.
Compare and contrast: "It's the possibility of being caught or discovered, the thrill of doing something crazy" vs. "Even so, I wouldn't imagine somebody throwing it up on the Internet for millions of people and destroying your life like that" -- what's he complaining about? Surely actually getting caught would be a moment of transcendent arousal?
From the article:
Hoyt became fascinated with Jubb and his belief in breatharianism, the idea that it's possible to live on nothing at all.
Methinks he has bigger problems than the HandToy®.
Maybe in the fantasies of the future, instead of family voices in the reception, just beyond the ajar closet door, billions of goggle-eyed dweebs, their faces lit by screens.
It's not working for me.
A real shocker! I've always thought of breatharians as sensible, grounded people.
Oh, wow. I hadn't heard of Beartharianism before. It's pretty fantastic:
The average person breathes 110 lbs of air per day. Air contains the basic building blocks for all physical matter, namely four gases, hydrogen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide and oxygen. Unfortunately there are many additional poisonous substances in the air that greatly diminish the proper assimilation of these gases, preventing their being used to sustain the human body sufficiently. Common sense dictates that if you can't get enough nutrients or stimulation from the food you taking, whether it is solid, liquid of air, you might have to use an alternative source. This would be solid or liquid food for the Breatharian.
Finally, something for our disillusioned teenagers to believe in! (the girls, anyway)
maybe the photos will actually lower subway flashing incidence if the pervs see what they actually look like when exposing themselves -- as opposed to whatever's in their heads.
pathetic, pink, wrinkly, weak, floppy, and VULNERABLE.
who needs mace...a little hot coffee would be enough!
You know, the compassionate soul in me wants to say that yes, masturbating in public is wrong, but no one wants their picture posted on the internet without their consent...
But then I read the article and think, "tough shit, freak."
You are far more compassionate than I. That one strikes me as a perfect case of letting the punishment fit the crime.
13: Yep. "Oh, you like being exposed? Here ya go!"
B, you bleeding-heart liberal. It's not like he was overcome by the urge and thought that that no one would notice. How fitting that he should be exposed against his will...
Oh, wow. I hadn't heard of Beartharianism before.
I've always believed there're bears in them thar hills.
"Restaurateur", not "Restauranteur", please. The etymology is "one who restores".
Most dictionaries list it as an acceptable variant.
But the OED lists it as an "erroneous form." Perhaps I'll update it to "restaurantarian."
Pity about all those Scots Restuarteurs.
Hey, are you a Scot, or merely of Scots origin? If the former, can you explain Tartan Week, or why Grand Central is overrun by men wearing kneesocks?
There was some guy playing bagpipes at Astor Place yesterday.
That's right, the restuarteurs were finally crushed in 1745, when Geoffrey Amherst, James Wolfe, et al discovered them handling themselves. To commemorate, people walk around Grand Central w/o pants.
I understand that traditional Restuarteur garb could actually lead to a very similar result, in NYC.
Next week, the Bretons will assert their pride with boiled wool sweaters; anyone who refuses to eat buckwheat crepes will be pelted with coquilles saint-jacques.
With those kilts, Scots flashers have a tremendous advantage. I understand that that's why the Battle of Cumberland was resolved so savagely by the prudish British. (The Gauls' wartime flashing tactic also annoyed the Romans no end.)
Alvy Singer: Oh stop it, you're having an affair with your college professor, that jerk that teaches that incredible crap course, Contemporary Crisis in Western Man...
Annie Hall: Existential Motifs in Russian Literature. You're really close.
Alvy Singer: What's the difference? It's all mental masturbation.
Annie Hall: Oh, well, now we're finally getting to a subject you know something about.
Alvy Singer: Hey, don't knock masturbation. It's sex with someone I love.
Nope, my real name is far less Scottish than my fake one. Actually, I don't know where my real name comes from anymore. My aunt's genealogical researches have uncovered quite a bit of mobility among our forefathers. I guess none of us could ever stand our parents.
Despite my names, I've a broad streak of Highlander in my background; my mother remembers her grandfather saying grace in Gaelic. But the cult seems so hokey to me I've only acknowledged it facetiously. I got in free to the 1980 Lascivious Costume Ball painted blue, for example.
The big observances would be Burn's birthday, January 25th and St. Andrew's Day, November 30th. Have no idea what they think they're celebrating. Updraft day?
People, I said that after reading the article I wasn't sympathetic. Jeez. You all know I can be as mean and judgmental as any of you, damnit.
B has a heart of gold beneath her gruff exterior. But there's a fist of steel inside the heart of gold. Inside the fist of steel, though. is an elven hand struggling to get out. Inside the elven hand there's something really weird I'd rther not talk about.
I hope that next year there's a "bitch" category, because I find it hard to call someone an expert when they refuse to reveal their specialty.
I've figured out that it's hydrodynamics, of course, but she won't tell you that.
I'm an expert at being a bitch. Also, getting women to wear decent bras.
Inside the elven hand is my magic ring of power.
Speaking of which, I've decided that the Wacoal bra I'm wearing today has probably hit the end of its life cycle at eight years of very frequent wear.
What's inside the magic ring of power?
34: Yes, I think some of the ones I bought before I got pregnant need to be thrown out soon.
35: Wouldn't you like to know.
Is the finger attached to a hand even smaller than the elven hand? Does it, too, clutch something?
We're all a million billion fingers on one fist
Attached to Gary's wrist.
39: I think that today the finger is attached to the hand of utter exhaustion.
Hey listen guys, maybe an ideal venue for the next meetup would be Quintessence...
Oddly, Quintessence was one of the first restaurants I went to by myself in NYC. I was wandering around the EVil and thought, "Oh, look! Chic hippies!" and went in. It was flavorless, but creative, I guess. My little entree had chipotle in it, though, which, it seems to me would violate every rule of raw food, no?
Seems clear to me this Hoyt guy should stop taking life advice from a man who's been living off of nothing but piss and who doesn't understand that "The ancient ones wanted us to know it's no secret why death occurs, so they put eat in the middle" makes no sense in a world where English is neither ancient nor the only language.
The real ancient ones would eat you for such lack of respect.
The ancient ones want you to know that you should kill the people you eat with glee, which is why they put laughter in the middle of slaughters.
You could call me a hitchikarian.
God, the ancient ones are so full of shit. That's why they say "Hi" in the middle of it.
You eat chikar?
Doesn't look like there's much meat on 'em. I'll just stick to hitchhikers.
Thanks to Unfogged, I have discovered that I am technically entitled to wear the hideous tartan of a once-powerful clan. I'm pretty certain that those ancesters were sharecroppers who happened to have the clan name, but I rather wish I hadn't looked it up.
"There are some truly strange site names on the Internet and I've been asked how I chose the name for my site. Well, I love my Chihuahuas, and my name is Karen, S-O-O-O-O!!!"
This is a thing of rare beauty.
"But, at 16 years old when he passed on, he had a good life and will be greatly missed and fondly remembered. The 'bestest' cat ever!
I was told by my vet of his condition a week before Christmas 2005. An awful Christmas 'gift' for me."
Oh, it was the quotation marks that made me cry.
My mother uses quotation marks this way. "AWB, I hope you're off having 'fun' with your 'friends'!" That also makes me cry.
I tell A White Bear ~ DON'T CRY: EAT FRUIT!
The Fruit Diet is the ultimate compassionate diet because you're not killing anything. The Fruit Diet is so FULL OF LIFE it's not even a die-t anymore ~ it's a live-t!
…
My hands just aren't fast enough or dextrous enough to make my mouth happy.
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Tree's don't go pooh. They drink water and soak up star light! That's mostly what they eat. And they are the ones making us our food. So we travel their seeds a few. So if you're reading this in a defensive way...!!! Why?
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Look at that adorably cute picture of me again and understand I am what I call a Primal Father Figure.
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Nothing hunts us. We're natural nutrition to no thing. Except of course for the hungry mouths of the microcosm.
Via matt w.
"When it's MULBERRY TIME in my back yard I'm under there stuffing purple berries into my mouth one after another after another after another after another!"
Any time is mulberry time at the Mineshaft.
We could fill a whole thread just cutting and pasting. What did you think of the "activities of the rodent mammal animal us human mammal animals"?
"I wanted my students to live or at least to imagine that moment of admiration (and perhaps also of the despair of an aging man) that gets a hold of me when I see the beautiful body of a young woman standing next to me in front of one of the computers that give access to our library catalogue---a moment, by the way, that is not all taht different from the joy that I feel when the quarterback of my favorite college team in American football (Redacted Redactors of course) stretches out his perfectly sculpted arms to celebrate a touchdown pass."
"Everything is a whole complete food to something. Fish in the sea... bark off the tree... even rock! Crack a dull rock open and it's shiny inside. But then it gets dull too. Things are eating it. To whatever those things are... rock is a whole food. And I'm talking fruit!"
Goddamn right he's talking fruit.
"Stepping in front of a city bus is for sure a serious mistake."
Aaaaaaaaand
we're back on topic.
Thanks to Unfogged, I have discovered that I am technically entitled to wear the hideous tartan of a once-powerful clan
Good news for anyone with the surname "Power"; it is not a Scottish name but the utility company "Scottish Power" registered a corporate tartan, and you are entitled to wear it if you have the surname Power or are descended from someone who did.
Bad news for anyone with the surname "Power"; it's really nasty.
btw I have always thought that "Scottish Power" would be a good name for a race hate group and got into quite a bit of trouble around the time of its IPO for saying so at a meeting.
I have discovered that I am technically entitled to wear the hideous tartan of a once-powerful clan.
For years I received all manner of gifts: socks, ties, sweaters, in "Nova Scotia Tartan," which I hated. My tartan, "MacKay," or M'chai as I say at our synagogue, is ideal for car blankets. Which is appropriate, since wrapping a girlfriend's booted feet because my thermostat is stuck captures the real me. I'm afraid I recognise several dozen on sight, which annoys me. I remember explaining this to someone in a dining hall one time, heard myself referring to "warp" and "woof" and just stopped. Ain't gonna go there.
There's a nice late Hugh Trevor-Roper essay which shows that commercial availabilty, at a surprisingly late moment, caused tartans to be adopted exactly like gang colors. That's right, the moment you think about it, wearing car blankets with jewelry is exactly analagous to wearing a giant parka back-to-front in Compton in July.
So no one's figured out the deal with Tartan week yet? Because I just walked by two bagpipers playing outside the Anthology Film Archive.
I have a Scots co-worker who is participating in all sorts of Tartan week events, but she's been very cagy about what it actually commemorates.
I'm given to understand that the whole "clan tartan" thing is a bunch of crap dreamed up for tourists, actually.
I'm given to understand that the whole "clan tartan" thing is a bunch of crap dreamed up for tourists, actually.
I think it has much to do with what Jon Stewart recently called "New York's parade-based economy".
I have no idea how that double-posted. Excuse me!
That's why my 51 was so ashamed--and why I was 80% certain that the resident belligerent Welshman was going to make fun of Americans genealogical fantasies.
Wearing the Scottish Power corporate plaid might be good fun, though.
