"You killed my father ... prepare to die."

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I was a vegetarian for 6 weeks when I was 19. It was a confusing, misguided time for me. I was dating a young man who didn’t eat meat, and, well … who hasn’t done something stupid for a boy? When he broke up with me, I treated myself to a dinner out: bacon-wrapped shrimp followed by a rack of baby-back ribs. I might have had a pork chop for dessert. I don’t really remember (it was, after all, ages ago).

The thing I realized as I nibbled on those ribs- or the thing I had started to realize at least (because I wouldn’t really get the message until I met Rand) is that you’ve got to be yourself, and you have to find someone who will love you for it. In my case, being myself involves eating meat. It’s not something that I hide from, it’s not something that I’m ashamed of.

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The great pyramid of Huaca Pucllana.

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Heading down from the top of the great pyramid.

We did not know what Huaca Pucllana was before we got there.

That was one of the nice parts about Peru – on many days wandered aimlessly, and without fail, we found something to see. It turned out that Huaca Pucllana is a large collection of ruins in the posh Miraflores district of Lima. Admission was about $3, and includes a guided tour (which is the only way you can see the ruins).

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Today’s guest post is from my friend John Doherty. Rand and I met John last spring in Boston – right before he was about to move to New York. Since then, I’ve been keeping up with his life through his twitter stream and updates to Google Plus. His insights and observations are always interesting, but it’s his photos that really fascinate me. In an era where every kid with a Canon SLR thinks they’re a photographer, John is creating art with his camera phone. You gotta respect that.

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I am a fairly new New Yorker, having moved here in the middle of June from Philadelphia, and before that I was living in Switzerland for a while. Having grown up in small-city Virginia, I have been used to fairly homogeneous surroundings (I’m not saying that’s a good thing, I’m saying that’s what it is). Since I’ve moved to New York though, I’ve become enthralled with the variety of people around! I started this Instagram pictures series a few months ago on Google+, and Geraldine loved them so much that she asked me to write this guest post for her.

Some of the subway photos may come across as creepy, but I think they give us an interesting view into the world of New York City. The shots of the protesters at Occupy Wall Street will hopefully help put a face to the people that you see on the news.

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Occupy Wall Street
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The protesters down in Liberty Square were peaceful when I went down there on the afternoon of October 8th. Shouts were rising from back in the square and music was playing, but everyone was calm and peaceful. Here are a few shots of what I saw.
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The American Dream is the American Plight

"The American Dream is the American Plight."

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Can't we all just be adults here?

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When I left for Peru, I took a small pack of tissues with me. I’d read that in more rural areas, we might not find toilet paper in public bathrooms. This didn’t really phase me: one time in Italy I’d peed in little more than a hole in the ground. A place not offering toilet paper isn’t that big an offense.

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Note: Since my posts are generally too wordy, I decided to see what happened when I made something a little too photo-y. Enjoy.

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One hot summer’s day, seemingly a lifetime ago, when I was in Kansas, we drove and drove.

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We drove through a part of the country most people only fly over. We drove until there was nothing but sky and grass. It didn’t take us long.

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History is not always kid-friendly. It lacks happy endings, victorious protagonists and punished villains. It’s not really something we have the grounds to complain about. History wasn’t created by a bunch of underpaid writers in the basement of a Hollywood studio. We can’t threaten to boycott Disney until they get the story right. We’re the ones who contributed to the narrative. It’s our history. And sometimes, the facts are just downright dark and, for lack of a better phrase, effed up.

Actually, let’s stick with that phrase. “Effed-up” works really well. It came to mind more than once when I visited the the Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Museum in Hutchinson. I’d stare blankly at an exhibit and think, “Man. That’s effed up.” (Only, you know, I actually said the word.)

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It’s with a bit of guilt that I tell you about the Donut Whole in Wichita, Kansas. I just got back from Peru last night, and while I loved the trip, there were times when Rand and I both looked at each other and thanked the heavens that we were born with all the privileges and opportunity and excess that comes from living in America.

We live in a land where pork is put into desserts and cakes and doughnuts, and that is no small thing.

In Wichita, I had no less than three bacon-scented sweets: a bacon caramel chocolate (I deemed it mediocre), a cupcake sprinkled with bacon bits (not bad for breakfast), and a maple-bacon doughnut (YES). This last confection, by far the most superior of the three, was courtesy of the Donut Whole. A small, eclectic shop downtown, they specialize in cake donuts, of which I am a fan because IT MEANS YOU CAN EAT CAKE FOR BREAKFAST. If you are partial to yeast donuts, or a vegetarian, you may want to skip this post altogether. I’ll understand.

The shop itself is shrine to … I don’t know. Something. Really, you tell me:

Let's just go with "America."

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Rand once told me that people are happier when they’re given fewer choices. He’d read an article on it. Something about how we still like to have options, but when we’re faced with too many of them, we get overwhelmed. Our instinctual reaction is try to limit our options to only a few, and failing that, to curl into a ball and suck our thumb until someone makes a decision for us.

By the way, that latter technique? TOTALLY works.

He mentioned this phenomenon to me one afternoon while I was standing in the middle of an IKEA on the verge of one of my patented and adorable nervous breakdowns. If you are unfamiliar with the Swedish furniture mecca that is IKEA, let me tell you now: it could drive the most resolute soul into a mad rage, could reduce the happiest of mortals into sniveling mess. In 1998, Gandhi punched a dude who was trying to snag the last OMSORG shoe tree in stock. True story.

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