Remember how I told you I've been working hard researching shows, updating my LIST? Well I sure am paying for it today. Normally I'm really conscious of my posture, but I let myself hunch over the computer yesterday. Woke up this morning with a little tinge in my back, thought, "Meh, nothing a little yoga can't work out."
Well, somewhere in my sun salutations, I made it worse. Now I'm stuck on the couch. A bump in a log with back pain.
Healthy eating is incredibly important to me. (And I'll say it. It's important for the career too.) I'm a huge supporter of eating locally grown, in-season and organic food that travels from farm to table in as little a time as possible. I realize we're pretty spoiled here in California, but it's one of the best places to be a locavore. My roommate and I split a box with a variety of fresh produce delivered to our doorstep every week. It's uuumazing. It feels a little pretentious, but it's actually incredibly affordable and soooooo good for you. And for the farmers. And for the chickens.
Begawk!? Did I say chickens? Yes I did. I'm a vegetarian, but I do eat eggs. In fact, my roomie and I go through them faster than any hen should be forced to maintain. We're pretty big on organic and cage-free too. But we all know (or should) that "cage-free" is marketing spin for, "out of a the wire thing, but crammed three deep on a small wharehouse floor but it's okay go ahead and buy us anyway!!!!!"
So we broke down and added a dozen "pasture-raised" eggs to this week's box.
For eight fucking dollars.
Let me repeat that... Eight dollars for one dozen eggs. Mel's Diner probably sells two eggs sunnyside up for a dollar-fifty and still turns a profit, labor costs included. Eight dollars, oof that's painful. That better be a fucking tasty scramble if the hens got to frolic around the orchard while I'm stuck here on the couch with a jacked-up back after too many hours hustling this crazy career that makes laying an egg seem like child's play. I'm a starving actor, after all!! Ughhh life is so hard... why can't I just be successful enough that I don't even flinch at dropping eight bucks on "fancy" eggs?!?!!! (Even though it's less about being fancy than it's the right thing to do for the chickens. THINK OF THE CHICKENS!!!)
Then I remember: every week a box of beautiful organic produce magically appears on my doorstep in my fancy zip code with my flat screen tv and a water filter on my shower and I remind myself to shut the hell up because I have it pretty good.
And so should the chickens. Let them have their orchard-napping and dust-bathing (which sounds totally counter-productive if you ask me, but you know... to each his own.) Thank you happy hens, for providing a happy breakfast for this grateful artist. I am forever in your debt.
(But seriously. Eight dollars??!!)