Fourth Day

"We can make him better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster."

---The Six Million Dollar Man.

What a difference the fourth day was. I leapt out of bed about an hour before my alarm was supposed to go off. The sick feeling is mostly gone and I had a ton of energy. For the first few hours of the day, I was skipping around like a five year old. When it was finally time to hit the gym at 11, I was really cooking.

But the hour of cardio and weights wasn't quite enough. So later, after work, I knocked out another 100 situps, leg raises, and a couple sets of deadlifts.

And for the first time in a while, I felt really light on my feet.

Vegan superhuman. We'll see what the next few days bring.

Third Day

Apparently, it's normal to feel sick on the third day of any sort of detox or cleansing. At least that's what Lisa says.

And I certainly did not disappoint. I crawled out of bed at 6 with a sore throat and sinuses filled with concrete. All day, I slithered around with the bare minimum of energy and STILL felt exhausted.

The strange thing is, I still wanted to go to the gym. I even wanted to WALK there, for some lunatic reason. So I shuffled the mile and a half to the Studio City Bally's to go lift some weights and listen to the terrible music they pipe in on the gym speakers. (Ask me how many Miley Cyrus songs I know. Ask me.)

A word to the wise: Ventura Blvd. is probably the stupidest place on God's green earth to walk around in a sick haze. I was nearly run over twice.

But even after a mediocre workout and quite a bit of walking, I still felt really stressed. Dumbass health insurance, job, and money worries still crept into my brain. And I had to quell the urge to dull that stress with a beer or a bowl or a slice of pizza.

And the damnedest thing happened. I realized that what I really wanted to do was meditate.

Now, I haven't really meditated in eight or nine years. But there I was, cross-legged on the carpet and breathing with my eyes closed. I even did ten minutes of "Om" chanting. And for a minute, I felt like I was outside of my body. My limbs belonged to someone else. I was just this essence without form.

When it was over, I was amazed at how much better I felt. That queasy feeling, that ache in my brain---GONE.

Maybe that's just something we all need in our lives. Some quiet time to just breathe and stop worrying.

Second Day

Nuts. Lots of nuts.

Veggie burgers. Spinach. Endless cups of water. This is what I eat. And to be honest, it's not that bad.

The hardest part isn't the avoidance of meat or dairy or sugar. It's not sex or caffeine.

It's the avoidance of harmful thoughts. Of negativity.

Here's an experiment. Tomorrow, every time you feel angry or hateful or jealous, just take a note of it. Every time you think "that guy's an asshole" or "she's a bitch", just take note.

If you're like me, you're a lot angrier than you give yourself credit for.

It would be the height of foolishness to try to abstain from thinking negatively at all. A thought would creep in, subconsciously even, and then you'd be all done. No, we're just trying to avoid the harmful thoughts. Not dwelling on them.

This is a bit easier to do, but not much. Probably ten times today, I found myself getting angry over little, mundane things. My job. Traffic. The slowness of the elevator.

Taking a deep breath helps, but only a little. Saying "it's no big deal" helps, but not much. Smiling almost does the trick, but not quite.

When I was younger, I used to laugh at how people would flip out over the pettiest things. Getting the wrong burger, a long line, being cut off in traffic. And I could never understand what their problem was.

But I do now. Because it isn't just the burger or the line or the asshole with no turn signal. It's the accumulation of little annoyances, on top of a deep and heavy dissatisfaction with their lives. A crushing sense of fear or doubt or inadequacy. And it manifests in those little events that, in and of themseles, are minor.

I understand this, because I feel the same way. Working in Hollywood can be grueling in a weird way.

NOT working in Hollywood is grueling. Meetings and auditions and packets. The endless driving and promises and handshakes. And at the end of the day, not being a single step further along. I've worked for two years on my show without making a single penny. I'm on the third draft of a screenplay I feel I'll never finish. And I can't even get in the audition room for the shows I want to be on.

It's the kind of thing that makes you want to drink. Or smoke pot. Or eat an animal-style Double-Double with extra crispy fries. Anything to stick your head in the sand and avoid that awful truth: life is moving on, while you're just standing still.

The truth of this little experiment isn't just "Hey, let's not have fun for a month." It's removing all of the crutches that we use when something is wrong. And confronting them head on.

The real challenge of this whole thing isn't to see if we can survive without Jack Daniels. It's to see if we can survive with only ourselves.

Joining The Enemy

I should admit something up front.

I tend to lump vegans with Wiccans, Mormons, creationists, 9/11 truthers, religious fundamentalists, and people that find Jay Leno funny.

Simply put, you're fucking lunatics that I have absolutely no interest in talking to.

I'm sure you're very nice, but I don't have the strength to listen to your inane babble about the healing energy of Gaea or controlled demolitions or why airplane seats are so small.

Of all of the aforementioned lunatics, vegans are probably the last group I thought I would actually join. I mean, Wiccans are weird, but I don't think my Wiccan lifestyle would be that different from the one I have now. What, buy some crystals and talk about Mammon at the spiritual bookstore? How hard could that be?

But veganism? Christ. What a fucking drag. It's an entire culture built around the stuff you DON'T do. No meat, no dairy, no eggs, no fun. What the hell do vegans even do on a Saturday night? Eat stir-fry tofu and drink gluten-free beer?

Who wants to be that guy? Who wants to be the sallow, 120lb hippie who constantly replies "Oh no, I'm vegan," with a condescending smile?

Who wants to be the boor who spouts off about how dairy farms rape their cows or pollute rivers or something else that no one cares about.

Not me.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

So why become a vegan? Well, I'll tell you.

Last night, I had a moment of clarity. In the middle of downing my tenth peanut butter cookie, something occurred to me.

I hadn't eaten a fruit or vegetable ALL DAY. Not one. And not only that, this is how I eat MOST OF THE TIME.

Coffee. Donuts. Soda. Cookies. Chips. Pepperoni pizza*.

I'm sitting there, crumbs still on my shirt, looking at my belly jiggle with high fructose corn syrup and grease. Feeling that weird heartburn from eating nasty, chemically processed food.

Have I become that guy? Have I become that lard-ass that ignores the most basic of nutritional needs? Would I be some 1000lb diabetic, glued to a futon and eating fried chicken by the bucket?

I knew that I wanted to stop eating like shit. I knew that I wanted to eat healthy.

But (and this is the saddest part), I REALLY DIDN'T KNOW IF I COULD. I mean, I could do okay for a couple of days. But eventually I'd fall victim to the siren song of carne asada or ice cream or Zankou chicken.

At around the same time, I stumbled on my friend Lisa's blog. Lisa, among other things, is probably the only vegan I can stand. And she's constantly talking about how healthy she feels, which tends to annoy the crap out of me.

So I decided to try a little experiment. One month. One month of trying it her way. I'll be a one month vegan.

And I added a couple of other things, just to test my willpower. No refined sugar, no caffeine, and no alcohol.

But it's February. A short month. It'll be over soon, right?

Right?

*---I know what some of you are thinking. "Tomato sauce is a vegetable." And then some of you private school kids are thinking "Tomatoes are actually FRUIT, aren't I fucking clever?".

Well, go fuck yourself. That's what I'm thinking.