Interesting. I’ll have to add this one to the queue.
Just a side note, someone who reviewed this on Amazon.com actually asserted that dudebro author David Ray Griffin wrote this for the “fame and money”. Yeah, let that sink in for a second.

I knew I was getting enough protein. Now I’m just thrilled that I won’t have to work as hard to obtain the magic of the “perfect protein” combo in all my meals. According to these people, and logic (I was hoping to find this to be true) you don’t need to follow a strict regiment of foodstuff combinations at mealtimes to find compatible proteins to fully supplement your need for certain amino acids. You can spread foods rich in these aminos out over a period of days and still get enough. Yeehaw. Look:

But protein wasn’t what any of us needed. “Loss of energy isn’t a symptom of protein deficiency,” says Anne Shaw, Ph.D., a nutritionist with the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s Agricultural Research Service. In fact, protein deficiency is so rare in this country that Shaw says she’d have to look up its symptoms because it’s been so long since she’s had to think about them. She reminds me that all of the recent research on the topic of protein indicates that if you’re getting enough calories – just about no matter what you’re eating – you’re also getting sufficient protein. It’s not just a claim made by defensive vegetarians; it’s a subject of broad scientific agreement.

Still, there’s a lot of confusion about protein – or to be more precise, the tiny amino acids that make up the long strands of protein – especially as it pertains to vegetarians. In fact, Lappe was right about protein combining to a certain extent. All plant-based foods are low in at least one of the nine amino acids our bodies need to get from foods. But the only foods that are truly protein-deficient are fruits, fats and sugars. And you need to obtain all nine amino acids over the course of a day or two, not within an hour of each other.

http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m0820/is_n211/ai_17010257

Wow. I’m hungry now.

I think I really know me but I could be wrong. There’s always that chance.

So anyway, I just got back from vacation and I am doing some kind of maxing and relaxing and listening obsessively to Gary Wilson which I believe is the only way to truly listen to the man. We all have a bit of Gary in us I think. Gary is in the space between love and pornography, between fondness and obsession. He separates the admirers from the stalkers. He is both, but his innocence is not lost. When you pause to look inside yourself and let your eyes roll back inside your skull, you can see yourself in your moments alone. Ear against the wall of the motel room. Finger poised on the call button, harsh moments of indecision. Plunging into the depths of lovesickness. You are waiting in the dark in the park to catch a glimpse of your lady (or man). Eye contact. Heavy breathing.

It is an inherent natural desire to want a romantic partner. Gary captures the desperation, the loneliness, the longing, and turns it into a sexy souiree. The guests are the faces of those desires in their purest forms. Lust, love, malice, Karen, Linda, Kathy. There is a departure from reality, formality is lost, and the downtrodden scream unabashed before the faces of their antagonists.

(from “Groovy Girls Make Love at Beach”)
I took her to a dance last Friday night.
I said, “Just wait there.”
She said, “Yeah, that sounds fine.”
When I came back, I told her that I fell in love with her.
She said, “Gary, falling in love ain’t too cool.”
I started to cry, I started to cry.
I said, I started screaming, I started screaming, I started screaming, I started screaming, I started screaming,
Hey, she’s out of reach!

Go ahead and lie and say you have no idea what I’m talking about

Anyhow, I have officially decided to officially start blogging and using this as a vehicle to shamelessly promote my amatuer wannabee poetry and such. If you like poetry (?) and other such mushy gushy pursuits then have a ball with what I’ve posted below. It’s the collective writings. I’ve put this stuff up various places usually as a hook to see if anybody who reads it will suddenly say, “Why, that’s about me!” It’s not, though. Or is it? Do you want it to be, baby? I want it to be what you want it to be, baby. Come on. Oh, a brand new poem burst is above inspired in part by Mr. Wilson. Listen to Gary Wilson. Listen to 10cc. Read poetry. Discuss your feelings with those you have them for and break down into tears in a tingling, convulsing ball at their feet. Destroy their party by suddenly launching yourself unrepentantly through their mother’s beautiful bay windows right next to where the make shift bar has been set up.