Back in July 2015, I was interviewed by blogger and author Crystal Miles Gauthier. Here is the interview:

Spotlight on Author Randy Pearson

Crystal Gauthier – July 3, 2015

When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

I date my first interest in writing, or at least in storytelling, back to age nine. As a birthday present for my father, I concocted a carton book called The Adventures of Marvin and Randy, with us on a pirate ship traveling the ocean. At age 13, I joined the Journalism department and became News Editor of the Wee Panther Paper, DeWitt Middle School’s Xeroxed newspaper.

However, I quickly realized making up stories intrigued me more than did reporting on them. At an early age, ideas would pop into my brain. One of the earliest stories I wrote was an assignment for English class. We had make up a couple-paragraph story, and I would’ve had a 4.0 on the assignment had I not written three pages instead of three paragraphs.

How long does it take you to write a book?

My first novel, Driving Crazy, only took around five weeks to write, but I had no job nor wife at that point. The one I am presently creating, Trac Brothers, is apparently nine months old already, but only writing for a few hours on weekends has considerably delayed production.

What is your work schedule like when you’re writing?

Unfortunately, my day job (Payroll Specialist for a series of charter schools) is very demanding, and I wed my sweetheart a year ago May, so my free time is quite limited. When I write, I prefer to have a several-hour block of time available, to get into the flow of the story. Weekends tend to be my best time, so I get up early on Saturday / Sunday, drink my coffee, and go down into my “man cave” for the day. I prefer my old desktop computer on a desk facing the wall, window blinds closed, so I can focus on my next story.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

While many writers I know can write with, and even prefer, a lot of noise, I have to have complete silence when I write. I lock myself in the basement (so to speak), no TV, no radio, and get into my story’s world.

In addition, I find I have to write the entire story in my head, from beginning to end, before I can commit it to paper. If I try to write the story before it’s completed in my brain, often times I become stuck before reaching the end. Once the idea percolates around my noggin for a few days, I am ready to fire up the computer.

How do your books get published?

Driving Crazy was initially self-published. In 2010, my writing group, Writing at the Ledges, used a book manufacturer in Grand Rapids, MI called Color House Graphics to print our anthology, Small Towns: A Map in Words. They did a quality job at a reasonable price, so I decided Driving Crazy would go that same route. I also created the eBook version using Smashwords.

In 2014, at the suggestion of an author friend, I submitted my completed novel to Tate Publishing, and they accepted it. Driving Crazy is slated for nation-wide release on June 16, 2015.

Where do you get your information or ideas for your books?

I have a strong “what if” type of mind. I constantly find myself examining the events after they occurred, and thinking, “That was okay, but what if this had happened instead?” Before I know it, I’m writing a story in my head. I have missed the endings of so many movies due to something that happened on screen triggering my “what if” brain, and off I go on my own adventure.

When did you write your first book and how old were you?

I should preface this question – Until recently, I’ve been strictly a short story writer. The ADOS in me (Attention Deficit – Oooh Shiny!) wouldn’t allow me to stick to an idea long enough to turn it into a novel. Driving Crazy, in fact, began life as a long (13000+ word) short story written in 2001. In 2010, at age 42, I expanded it and turned it into a 63000-word novel.

As far as non-novels, if we don’t count the cartoon book for my dad or that story from my grade-school days, I would say I wrote my first short story around 1984. At age 18, I would often stay up until 4:00am writing on my Atari 400 home computer. (Google what the Atari 400 looks like, and you’ll be impressed I was able to type on that small membrane keyboard!)

What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

Though I enjoy reading when I’m not writing, I tend to have the same ADOS when it comes to my entertainment. I have at least a dozen books with bookmarks in them. Other than that, I try to spend as much time as possible with my new wife and stepdaughter, as well as family and friends. I watch a small amount of TV, and play entirely too much Candy Crush on my tablet.

What does your family think of your writing?

My wife adores that I’m a writer. In fact, we met in our favorite bookstore (EVERYbody Reads, in Lansing, MI) when I was doing a book signing event. I even proposed to her in that same bookstore. Wendy’s an avid reader, so I always try to create stories that she enjoys.

The rest of my family, Mom, brothers and sisters, etc, all think it’s cool that I’m a published author. They come out to my events from time to time and enjoy listening to my readings.

What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your books?

I find it surprising how complicated it can be to create an entire world – believable characters, interesting dialog, entertaining situations – all while keeping a solid narrative throughout the story. Driving Crazy (and most of my short stories) flowed easily from my mind to my fingertips, but with Trac Brothers, I found I had to write out the entire plot before I could start creating the story. Since I found I’m not an outline guy, I wrote a 6-page synopsis, along with a character list and a location summary. It’s not fun to get 30,000 words into a story and think, “Now where was I going with this?”

How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?

So far, Driving Crazy is my only novel. However, long after I’ve written other novels, I highly suspect it will still be my favorite. The characters are so much fun and the story is near to my heart. I still laugh out loud reading some of the scenes!

If we also count short stories, Driving Crazy will be a close second to The Morning After, a story about a man who wakes up on his front lawn sans trousers, and has to retrace the previous night’s events to locate them.

Do you have any suggestions to help me become a better writer? If so, what are they?

The main suggestion I always give writers is to join a writer’s group. Having a like-minded group of people with which to share my writing really helped me to evolve. While you can give stuff to friends who will say, “Oh yeah, it’s good,” having people look at your work with a critical eye and offer constructive criticism is the only way you can grow as a writer. Find a group in person or online, and if you can’t find one, create your own!

Do you hear from your readers much? What kinds of things do they say?

Every so often, I’ll get an email or Facebook post. Most people are generally positive, telling me how hard they laughed at a certain scene or enjoyed the book as a whole. However, whenever I see the realtor who sold Wendy and me our house, he always looks at my wife and says, “After all the things he did in this book, I can’t believe you married him! Have you read this? Oh my goodness!” I can’t seem to convince him that while Driving Crazy’s Jay Naylor is loosely based on me, it is a work of fiction. So when he says this to us, we just look at each other and chuckle.

Do you like to create books for adults?

My primary audience is adults, and I do prefer writing for that age group. While I don’t have much swearing or “adult situations’ in my stories, I like not having to think too much about how I write my stories.

What do you think makes a good story?

A good story has to have interesting and believable characters. While I prefer a plot that is at least plausible, I find I can suspend disbelief easily enough as long as the characters stay true to themselves. Writers should never “force” a character to do something that is opposite to their nature or just utterly stupid. (To this day, if someone mentions the movie Jeepers Creepers to me, I get angry at the idiotic things the two main characters do throughout this movie. No one would ever do what these people do! After a while, I found myself rooting for the serial killer.)

As a child, what did you want to do when you grew up?

As a young boy, I wanted to be a baseball player, specifically a pitcher. However, my talent (and my height) didn’t make that dream a reality. I also had aspirations of being the next Charles Schultz, as I spent much of my youth writing hundreds of comic strips called The Weirdos, staring Hic and Bunyan. Since I wasn’t a very good artist (despite having a painter and commercial artist as a father), I slowly started writing stories. And here we are!

This true life encounter with a stray dog was originally published in Pets Across America.

Porch Dog

By Randy D Pearson (c) 2026

“Hey,” said my roommate Mark as he came home from work at eleven o’clock on a Thursday night, “did you know there’s a dog on the porch?”

Flicking on the outside light, I peered out the front window and saw it lounging near the front steps. Though probably still a puppy, at around three feet long and two feet tall, it had already filled out. “Huh. That’s odd,” I replied. “I wonder how long it’s been there.” We both stood at the window, staring out. “Any idea what breed it is?”

Mark shrugged at me. Neither of us were dog people, and I barely knew the names of any breeds. This mostly orange animal had white on its muzzle and on the tip of its tail, and had tall, pointy ears. “Kinda looks like one of them…” I paused, trying to entice my brain into recalling the breed name. It couldn’t. “…Uh, one of them, er, Marmaduke dogs, maybe?”

“A Great Dane? Well, maybe, but I’m thinking more like a German Shepherd.”

Not knowing any better, I agreed with him. As I peered out, the dog turned to look at me. It seemed healthy, but I perceived a bit of sadness in its eyes. Once I broke eye contact, I noticed something next to it on the porch. “Any idea what that thing is?”

With the porch light barely touching it, it appeared to be nothing more than a dark lump. “Nah. I saw it when I came in, but I wasn’t about to confront a stray in the middle of the night.”

Behind me, my cat Zoe screeched as if she was under attack. Clearly, even though she couldn’t see the animal outside, she knew of its proximity. Actually, as far as I knew, she had never even seen a dog, let alone smelled one. However, she knew something lurked outside and it freaked her out considerably. I picked her up, and she braced her limbs tightly against my chest. “Jeez Zoe, calm down. The evil dog can’t get you. See?” I held her near the window and she began struggling, mewing even louder. Knowing I’d get an incidental scratch on my face if I kept her in my arms much longer, I quickly released her. She scurried into the living room, still pathetically crying.

It had to be a neighbor’s dog, but I hadn’t seen it around before today. Unfortunately, it wore no tags or a collar, but it looked far too clean and healthy to be a stray.

Taking one last look outside, the dog still peered in at me. Having no idea what else to do, I went to bed.

When I woke up the next morning, I brewed a cup of coffee and casually looked out my window. I had forgotten all about the dog, but it came rushing back to me when I noticed that item on the edge of the porch. From my vantagepoint, it looked an awful lot like an animal skull of some sort. “Oh great,” I muttered to no one, “the thing brought me a dead and mostly devoured animal head. Lovely.” After checking several other windows, I did not see the dog in the vicinity, so I donned my shoes and jacket and wandered outside.

As I approached the thing, I quickly realized it was indeed a skull. But oddly enough, from this angle, it sure looked like … an alligator skull! This dog found an alligator in Michigan? Though it certainly seemed improbable, it had an alligator’s long, oval-shaped lower jaw and the sharp, pointy teeth. How bizarre! Where on Earth did this dog come from, I had to wonder?

Once I walked up next to it, I released a quick gasp. The top, which had been blocked from my view, still had the alligator skin and even the eyeballs. Then I saw some writing in black marker on the jaw, and once I noticed the chew marks on the jaw-joint, I realized it wasn’t a real skull. It seemed like the type of thing I saw in a gift shop in Florida while on vacation last year. I breathed a sigh of relief as I picked it up. “Well, the dog left me a peace offering.” I considered keeping the thing, but the more I looked at it, the more damage I saw from the dog’s gnawing, so I bagged it up and tossed it in the trash.

Once I took care of my present, I grabbed my newspaper from the porch and went inside. Thank goodness, the dog had gone away.

Later that morning, I heard barking outside. Looking out, I saw the dog standing on the sidewalk. Bouncing up and down playfully, it yapped at a pear-shaped woman with a gigantic purse hanging off her shoulder. She had her hands in the air, staggering backwards slowly while loudly whimpering. Poor woman, I thought. I had seen her around my neighborhood for years and though I had never spoken to her, I always got the impression she was a bit mentally challenged.

I briefly considered going out to help, but fortunately, I didn’t need to. The dog became bored and dashed away from the woman, back into my yard. It ran up to my porch and began sniffing the spot where the skull used to be. After sampling the scents all around the area, it plopped down on the same spot as last night, lowered its head, and closed its eyes.

Figuring I might need the visual documentation, I walked into the next room and got my camera. When I returned and pulled open the blinds, the dog jumped up and looked at me. “You are a pretty one, aren’t you girl?” I whispered. Before I could snap the shot, she turned to look at a car as it sped by. She never looked back at me, so I took a few side shots and called it good.

Over the next several hours and into the afternoon, she divided her time between my porch, my yard, and the neighbor’s yard to my right. I’d glance out the window periodically, and each time I’d find her in a different location. She spent a bit of her time lounging in the neighbor’s yard, including once when she chased a squirrel up his spruce tree.

For the most part, she was a peaceful, friendly dog. As people strolled by on the sidewalk, she would prance out to greet them. Most folks took to her, petting her and handing her food morsels from a pocket. The number of people who carried food with them both amazed and amused me. However, when she barked at another woman, power-walking past my house at around three-thirty that Friday, I figured I had to do something.

I got online and found the number to the Ingham County Animal Control. Picking up the phone, I felt kinda guilty doing this, assuming her owner would eventually drive by or come home and claim her. But as I hesitated, I heard a car screech to a halt directly out front. When I saw the dog dash back up to the porch as the car sped off, I breathed a sigh of relief and made the call.

Hanging up the phone, I remembered inviting a couple of friends over for the evening, and I called to warn them of the porch dog. “As far as I can tell, she’s not dangerous or anything. But just in case, I thought it best to warn you.”

Even though she spent all afternoon in and around my porch, by the time my friends arrived, she had vanished. We ate dinner, then as we headed out to see a movie, we saw her down the sidewalk barking at yet another woman. My friend Guy yelled, “Hey poochy, leave her alone!” and surprisingly, she did. The orange puppy took off running the opposite direction, disappearing from view.

Upon arrival at home that night, she was gone once again, and I had hoped that either her owners or the authorities had finally taken her off my hands.

When I awoke Saturday morning, I didn’t see the puppy, but I did immediately witness her wake of destruction. On the edge of the porch, where she had previously left the skull, sat my newspaper. Though still mostly intact, she had managed to chew through the plastic bag and had gnawed off one of the corners. Next to the paper sat several items, including cardboard boxes, a soiled doll, a metal ball that looked like it had come from the top of a daybed, and a couple of branches.

As I peered out, she dashed off my porch and ran across the street, directly to my neighbor’s porch. She scooped up their newspaper in her mouth and shot back to my porch, then proceeded to shred his paper into dozens of pieces. She sure looked to be enjoying herself as she shook her head violently from side to side, bits of newspaper raining down all around her.

All throughout the morning, she remained very active. She kept running over to the thrift store next to my house, prancing around customers and employees alike. I watched out the window as she jumped up on a large woman wearing a bright yellow smiley-face T-shirt. Her paws came to rest just below the lady’s shoulders. “No! Down!” she yelled, but I could tell from her beaming smile that she liked dogs. I turned and went back to my phone to call Animal Control again. Of course, it being a Saturday, no one answered. Was I stuck with this dog until Monday? And if so, would I have to suck it up and actually try to take care of her?

The thought made me nervous, but at the same time, it intrigued me a little bit. I had never been a dog person. Actually, I grew up without any pets, other than a few-month stint with a parakeet named Bob. Dad bought it as a gift for someone at work, and after his family declined, we ended up with him. Mom hated cleaning up after Bob, and Dad felt bad having a caged animal, so he used to let him fly around in the garage. Though I never knew for certain, I always suspected Mom opened the overhead door one day and let the bird fly free. We saw the brightly-colored bird in the neighborhood trees for a few days before disappearing forever.

As an adult, I’ve only had cats as pets. The idea of having a dog never appealed to me. All the work – the walks and the poop scooping, the dirty paw prints staining my carpet, the face licking – none of it sounded good to me. Indoor cats I could deal with.

However, looking out at this critter, she sure seemed to be a happy girl. It made me wonder.

A couple minutes later, I heard knocking on my door. I recognized the woman’s bright yellow smiley-face shirt from between the slats in my blinds. Both the woman and her shirt smiled broadly as she asked, “Is this your dog?” The pooch stood there obediently, her tail wagging furiously. “She’s adorable.”

“She is adorable, isn’t she? But no, she’s not mine. She seems to have adopted my porch as her home though, as you can see.” I pointed over to the dog’s debris field. “Is she bothering you?”

“Oh no, but she is a handful. She ran out into the street a little while ago, and I didn’t want to see her get hurt.”

“Yeah, I called the authorities already. Hopefully, they’ll get here soon.”

“Okay,” she said as she stepped away from my door. “Stay, girl! Stay!” The woman repeated herself several times as she vacated my property, but the puppy had no intention of complying, following her back to the thrift store parking lot.

About an hour later, I looked out and saw the black-and-white Ingham County Animal Control truck parked at the thrift store. As quickly as I could, I donned my shoes, grabbed the dog photo, and dashed out the door. A tall, attractive woman in a brown police uniform greeted me with a polite smile. She had one of those dog-catching devices in her right hand, a short stick with a loop.

“Hi,” I said with my own smile, “I’m the one that called you. Here’s a picture I took of the dog. She seems harmless enough.”

“Oh, you took a picture? This will help tremendously. Thank you.”

As the words came from her mouth, a voice emanated from my neighbor’s yard to my right. “Oh, here she is. Good girl!” I turned to see one of the thrift store employees standing a few feet away from the orange puppy. True to form, she hadn’t wandered far from my porch.

“Don’t scare her,” the policewoman told me as the dog trotted away from the thrift store woman and directly toward me. “No sudden movements.”

The dog trotted up next to me and stood still, staring intently at the policewoman. I reached down and slowly ran my hand along the dog’s back as the woman spoke softly and crept closer.

At that moment, it occurred to me that I hadn’t interacted with this dog at all until now. She hadn’t been around any of the times I left the house, and when she was outside, I felt too much trepidation to investigate. I hadn’t had many positive experiences with dogs. Mostly, my brain held on to the memories of big dogs jumping up on me and little ones incessantly licking my face. Plus, I had been bitten a couple of times as a child, giving me a healthy fear. Besides, my logical nature kept telling me that being friendly to this stray animal would make her stay.

But here and now, the puppy stood next to me, wagging its tail while I continued to pet her softly. As I kept her distracted, the cop gracefully walked up and put the loop around her neck. Just like that, the woman had control. As she led the dog to the back of the truck, she thanked me.

I went inside, feeling relieved but still slightly guilty. Ah well, I thought, she’s a good, healthy dog. Either her owners will come and claim her, or someone will adopt her. She’s far too pretty not to find a home.

I kept putting off a visit to the Ingham County Animal Control building, afraid of what I might find. What if she was still there? What if she wasn’t?

When I finally got up the courage, a week had already passed. On that Saturday, I found out she had already been adopted. Feeling much relief, I asked, “Who?”

Of course, they wouldn’t say any more, so I had no idea where she now called home.

Perhaps one day, I might wake up to find an orange-colored dog chewing up a newspaper on my porch. After all, they say dogs have a great navigation system, and for two days, she called my porch home.

Experiencing Common Ground (2010)
(c) 2015 By Randy D Pearson

With a corn dog in my hand and music in the air, a smile overtakes my face as I stand looking out at the Sand Bar. From my perch on top of the large, concrete bowl, I can see the band members’ legs and feet. But due to the tarp keeping the sun from beating down on their heads, I can see nothing above their torso. It hardly matters, since I don’t know the name of the band and wouldn’t know their faces if I could actually see them. All I know is, it’s a hot, glorious day here at Common Ground, I have a plastic cup filled with Newcastle Ale in my right hand, a thick, tasty corn dog in my left… oh, and my phone is ringing.

I quickly stuff the breaded hotdog in my mouth and fumble my cell phone from its holder on my hip. The caller ID has, “Jeff & Jolette” so I know Jolette’s on the other end. Jeff rarely calls. Pushing the button to answer, I quickly realize I can’t speak with a mouth full of corn dog. The balancing act – cell phone in one hand while attempting to hold both food and cup with other – works better than I anticipated. “Hey JoJo,” I yell.

“Hi sweetie. I’m on the hill. Where are ya?”

The spot we always meet, where all of our friends expect to meet up, is just past the cement walking path and sits atop the Sand Bar. We call it The Hill, because, y’know, it’s a hill. Brilliant, am I right? “I’m here, too. See me?” I set my beer down and begin waving the corn dog in the air. The people around me chuckle.

At the moment I catch sight of her looking the wrong direction, she replies, “No. Where are ya?”

“I’m the guy to your left, waving his weenie in the air.”

Her look of shock and amusement is worth the price of admission. “I beg your pardon?”

Bending over, I scoop up my beer and again try to balance all of my stuff as I start walking toward her. “Look to your left.” When she pivots the other direction, I add, “No, your other left.”

As I approach, she finally notices me. I manage to hold the corn dog up, and she laughs loud enough to be heard over the noise of the crowd and the band. “Nice weenie!”

“I get no complaints. Wanna bite?”

She shakes her head viciously. A pretty lady in a turquoise blouse and cream colored shorts, she and her husband Jeff have been my dear friends for many years. Like most of the people I will see here tonight, I met them through my brother Mark. In fact, after we hug, making sure I don’t spill Newcastle down her back, she asks, “Is Bulldog here yet?” Everyone calls my brother by his high school nickname. Well, everyone but me.

“Not yet. Soon, I’m sure.”

Gesturing to her right, she says, “This is Patty and Bill. Meet Randy, the world-renowned author.” I love how she introduces me to people. Makes me feel important. “Patty wants a copy of your book.” Of course, I shake Patty’s hand first. A short woman with thick auburn hair and large, round glasses, she smiles warmly and asks me to describe Driving Crazy. As I regale her with the spiel – road trip comedy blah blah blah – I grab the hand of Bill, a man about my height with his blonde hair cropped down to stubble.

Within five minutes, my brother comes sauntering up to us. Even though we are the same height, he always seems taller to me. It’s probably his long, fluffy blonde hair, like a lion’s mane. Dressed conservatively with his dark blue button-down short-sleeved shirt and drab green shorts, he always makes a grand entrance. By now, several other of our friends have wandered up, like Cindy, a friendly Native American woman with high cheekbones and a cute smile, and Eric, who everyone calls, “The Tie-Dye Guy” for obvious reasons. He sports one of the beautiful, brightly colored Tie-Dye outfits he probably created earlier in the week.

“So,” Bulldog says with a slap to my shoulder, “Ya wanna go check out the other stage?”

This being my favorite part, I say, “Sure.” I love wandering between the stages, never knowing which friend I might come across. After we announce our intentions, I wave to the crowd of friends. Both Jolette and Eric decide to come along.

As we chat amongst ourselves, a young couple walks up to Eric. “Excuse us,” says the woman, who appears to be barely 21, with flawless skin, a revealing tank top, and short shorts, “can we take your picture?”

Jolette looks at me with a puzzled grin, and I whisper, “This happens every year. How often to you see an actual hippie in the wild like this?” Eric poses with his widest smile, then Bulldog takes a picture of the three of them arm in arm, Eric in the middle like a hippie sandwich.

Once they thank us, we continue on our way. “Dude,” I tell Eric, “you realize you could make extra money here. Y’know, all you’d need is a sign: Have your picture taken with an authentic Hippie – five dollars.”

“Or a drink,” Jolette adds. We all laugh.

On the way to the south stage, we all find people we know. Bulldog runs into a biker couple named Dan and Tami, where mine is a guy I remember but can’t properly place. He has a shiny bald head and a thick black beard. As I start talking to him, it comes to me. “Oh, we worked together. Demmer.” I say as he angrily goes on for the next several minutes about how he was wrongly fired and how he hasn’t found a job since then. Okay, so they’re not always people I want to reconnect with, but still, it’s the chance that must be taken.

Fortunately, Bulldog taps me on the shoulder. “Dude, we got a special deal, but we gotta go right now.”

As I inch away, the guy, whose name still escapes me, continues to ramble on about the unfairness of life. “Sorry man,” I say with a wave, “but I gotta go. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

With his scowl in my rearview mirror, I whisper to Mark, “Thanks, brother.”

“You looked like you needed saving.”

“Yeah, he’s a treat. They used to call him something weird at Demmer… Kitty Litter…no, Catnip. He used to talk about his cats constantly. Had pictures in his wallet and everything.”

“Lovely. Besides, we do have a special deal.” He points over to our friend Dan, who everyone calls Animal, and as I shake the giant man’s meaty hand he says, “Tami can get us into the Uncommon Club.”

In years past, Jeff and Jolette used to spend the extra money to get the Uncommon Club package, but at $350 for the week, they decided not to splurge this year. At least once a year they would sneak Mark and me in, and though I liked the naughtiness of it, I never felt overly comfortable with it. So this invitation, though interesting, gave me a bit of trepidation. I smile at Tami, a tall woman with her brown hair nearly touching the top of her shorts. Returning the smile, she hands me a paper ticket. “I won a bunch of these things, so we can all go in!”

After thanking them, we inform them we are heading to the south stage, but Animal points out, “There’s no one playing on this side today.” Sure enough, the stage hasn’t even been completed yet. So, we turn and head back over the bridge.

On the way, I see Mike and his daughter Maggie. Mike has some of the coolest barn parties on his property in Eaton Rapids, with live bands and tons of fantastic people. Maggie, his teenager, is a budding musician, with an angel’s voice and a wicked set of drumming skills. High-fiving him as I walk past, we continue on to the Uncommon Club entrance.

Even though I hold a legitimate ticket in my sweaty hand, I still can’t shake the feeling I’m doing something wrong. However, I hand the ticket to the lady at the gate, and she smiles as she slips it from my grasp while ushering me inside.

The food is free in here, so we all head straight for the table with the warm hot dogs, hamburgers, and pulled pork meat. Grabbing a bun, I load it up with as much pork meat as it would sustain.

Taking two steps away from the table, I almost plow into Bruce, a fellow I went to high school with. We’ve seen each other exactly once in the last 25 years, last August at the DeWitt Ox Roast. As I munch on my sandwich, he says a few kind words about my book, which he picked up at Everybody Reads a couple of days after my book signing. “I stopped reading a James Patterson novel to read yours,” he says matter-of-factly. I thank him whole-heartedly between bites, and part of me wants to tell him a secret. His last name is Olney, but up until we became friends on Facebook, I was sure his name was pronounced Only. From my best recollection, we all called him Only, and no one ever corrected me. Though I suspect he’d find it amusing, I choose not to say anything, deciding to wait until I am drunk. That way, I won’t be bothered as much if it offends him.

Saying our goodbyes, I realize I lost sight of my posse. I stand there, half-eaten sandwich in my hand as I scan the crowd. Since I still don’t see them, I decide to sit down to finish off the sandwich, picking a table with a stunningly pretty couple seated across from me. Between bites, I introduce myself.

They do the same but I instantly forget their names, as I often do when I’ve been drinking or when I meet stunningly pretty people. They both had brassy blonde hair, accentuated with heavily tanned skin and unnaturally white teeth. If they weren’t holding hands, I’d have pegged them as siblings. He looks at me and smiles casually, while her bright smile lights up the whole tent. “We’re here from Owosso,” she says loudly. “My friends won some tickets and they couldn’t go.”

“I get the week-long pass and go every year,” I tell them. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Who’s playing right now?” the guy asks me.

Turning my head, I see a shirtless man on stage holding a chainsaw over his head. “Oh, that’s Jackyl. The Lumberjack Song… ever hear it?”

With eyes wide, they shake their heads rapidly.

Turning back, I catch sight of my brother’s frizzy mane, up near the left side of the stage. I turn back to the Pretties. “They’re entertaining, to be sure. Well hey, I see my people up there, so I gotta run. Nice meeting you two!” I pop the last bite of sandwich into my mouth, buy another Newcastle, and head to the stage.

Though I try to drink as much as possible before I reach the crowd, I still spill some on myself as I snake through the throng of people.

I spend the rest of the evening standing as close to the stage as possible, on this side of the Uncommon Club fence, listening to and watching Buckcherry as they play hit after hit. The members of the band are all shirtless and covered in bright tattoos. The lead singer has so much vivid ink on his body that it appears he is wearing a long sleeved shirt.

After the band finishes their encores, we push our way through the crowd and back up to the hill. We collect our chairs, and I chuckle to myself about how I never once sat in my own seat. But this is by no means uncommon. I bring it every time, set it up next to the tall pine tree on the hill, and wander off to find adventure. My chair, I think, enjoys Common Ground as much as I do.

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30-Day Vegan Challenge (From a Meat-Eater’s Perspective)

(c) 2014 By Randy D Pearson

I’ve been a lifelong meat eater, and I’m not ashamed to admit that. Not at all. Meat is tasty. I’ve always had a particular fondness to KFC extra crispy chicken and bacon double cheeseburgers.

But then on May 24, 2014, I married a vegetarian, and my diet changed.

Not that she’s ever, and I mean ever, given me any flak over eating meat. There’s no guilt, no “meat is murder” conversations, no evil glares when I order a steak quesadilla at Taco Bell while she’s getting her bean burrito. Not long after we started dating, we had a conversation about our respective diets. I told her I had no problem eating whatever vegetarian meals she prepared as long as she didn’t mind me scarfing the odd tuna fish sandwich or pepperoni pizza. It’s worked quite well for me. Most weeks, I’ll end up eating meat with three or four of my meals, generally either eating out at lunch with my co-workers, or the occasional restaurant dinner. Overall, I find the “fake” meats we eat are very close to what my brain expects when it thinks about meat. Some, like the “hamburger” crumbles she puts in our nachos, has an identical taste and texture to the real thing. Others are not so convincing. The “facon” is clearly not bacon and never will be confused as such, but still tastes fine to me.

I’m sorta a pseudo vegetarian-ish man at the moment. So why am I going to become a vegan for the next 30 days? For me, it’s a mixture of opportunity and curiosity. See, my wife went to the doctor last month and had her cholesterol tested. Her LDL or “bad” cholesterol came back 14 points higher than her doctor thought was healthy, and wanted to put her on the cholesterol lowering drug Lipitor. She said no, rather vehemently, and instead went full-on vegan for a month, until her next test.

When that next test came back, she’d lowered her cholesterol by a whopping 96 points. Think about that for a moment. Down 96 points in one month, by merely switching from no meat to no cheese, eggs, sour cream, or milk. It boggled my mind!

Then, a few days later, I found out that my employer had switched wellness plans, and part of that new plan gave us a free biometric screening in mid-October. They’re even coming right to the office to do it. Since I’d already had a full screening back in May, this seemed a bit redundant. But then I realized this offered me a unique opportunity. After all, my total cholesterol was 196 in May. This is still in the healthy range, but just barely. Anything under 200 is apparently fine. My LDL, at 127, is only three points below the top of the healthy range. The doctor didn’t seem concerned, but last year, the overall number was 186. That’s a bit of a jump in one year, and a trend I’d rather buck.

I suddenly had a perfect opportunity to test out my wife’s miraculous lowering of her cholesterol on a, shall we say less-healthy subject – me!

Beginning Monday September 23 at lunch (my place of employment is catering in breakfast on Monday, and I don’t want to miss those cheesy potatoes, sausage quiche, and especially that ultra-thin bacon…drool!), I will become a vegan, until Tue October 21^st, when I will be tested at 9:40am.

Initial thoughts on my vegan challenge

I’m switching my diet from a few meat-meals a week to none, and from a lot of dairy to none. That part, in my mind at least, won’t be all that tough. I don’t seem to crave much in the way of food, other than chocolate, and my dark chocolate is already vegan, so yay on that. Not eating meat doesn’t seem like a major stretch. Even removing eggs and milk and sour cream doesn’t seem like a huge deal. Though obviously time will tell.

I’m a very structured person in general, and my meals are no different. Most days, my breakfast consists of a bowl of cereal. It’s usually a sugary one like Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Cocoa Krispies, drowned in fat-free cow’s milk. (It really seems so odd to put “cow” in front of milk. Before I met my wife, I would’ve said, “Duh! What other milk is there?”) However, I’ve been using some vanilla-flavored almond milk lately, which really does tastes a lot better than cow’s milk. It’s more expensive, but I find the Aldi brand almond milk, at $2.50 per quart, is priced well enough to not make it cost-prohibitive. I also think I’ll take this opportunity to wean myself off the overloaded sugar cereals, and try what is probably still very sugary options like Chex cereals or a raisin bran. Most weekends, I’ll have an egg-cheese sandwich from our breakfast sandwich maker, or we’ll eat out and I’ll have an omelet, so those are out.

Lunch is usually a sandwich – I tend to opt for peanut butter and honey on whole wheat, a fat-free overly sugared yogurt, and fruit, either fresh or a Dole-style snack-cup. Though I understand some vegans even forego honey because we apparently aren’t nice to the bees, I probably won’t go quite that far. Though I inadvertently bought Agave nectar instead of honey at Aldi, so I think I’m actually still adhering to full-on veganism here. (I believe we’re allowed to abuse plants.) Or I can go with jelly/jam, as well. I’ll have to skip the yogurt, unless I can find and afford some almond or soy alternative. Instead, I’m opting for a small salad. My wife tells me I don’t get enough vegetables in my system, and I’m sure she’s right about that. And, of course, fruit is fruit, so I’m good there.

Dinner will be a bit trickier. A lot of evenings, my loving wife makes us a vegetarian meal, which I happily eat. She’s agreed to help me stay on the vegan path, so those meals should be okay as well.

My biggest concern will be eating out, which just means I’ll have to be a lot more diligent reading the menu. Also, sometimes at work they feed us breakfast and lunch, and it’s pretty much all meat/dairy filled. My first test on that will be Thursday, when I look at the big tray of cheesy potatoes and the vat of bacon, and instead grab a muffin and some fruit. Then we’ll see what cravings are really like!

I am told my body will go through changes, with the lack of any meat/dairy. Perhaps headaches, perhaps “flushing” issues will occur… Only time will tell!

I will also have to make sure I get enough protein. That’s always the first thing people say. “Not eating meat or cheese? You won’t get anywhere near enough protein.” According to an article on the About.com website by Vegetarian food expert Jolinda Hackett, “The truth is, most Americans get way too much protein, and vegetarians can easily get more than enough protein in their diet as well.” She suggests many items, such as beans, nuts, seeds, chick peas, soy, tofu, and even those fake meats, will easily give me enough protein.

I’m actually surprised as to how much I’m looking forward to doing this!

Day 0

Weight 159

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Sunday, September 28, 2014 – Day 6

Weight – still 159 – Stomach size 38 in

I’m six days into my new vegan lifestyle. So far, so good. No craving issues or strong desires to “cheat” and my body isn’t freaking out. I’ve had a few more headaches, but nothing too serious. The hardest part has been dealing with food away from my scheduled meals. Thursday and Friday were both rather challenging. I’d been anticipating Thursday’s breakfast and lunch at work. As I mentioned, sometimes they feed us – or a better way to describe it is, when they have big meetings, they cater in meals, and whatever’s leftover, we get to eat. There’s usually plenty but it’s almost never vegan-friendly, so I planned ahead, by bringing a packet of oatmeal. I figured I’d see what they had for breakfast, and when it wasn’t much of anything I could eat, I’d head back to my desk with a few pieces of fruit or whatever and eat it with my oatmeal. Well, they threw me for a loop by actually inviting us to the meeting to eat. I really couldn’t bring my food to the meeting, so I went through the line, passing up ham and cheese croissants, sausage roll-ups, those wonderful cheesy potatoes, and other egg-meat items. I walked to my table with a biscuit and some honey. Never mind that after I ate it, one of my co-workers pointed out that it “probably wasn’t vegan.” Sigh.

This brings up a problem for me. I don’t bake, cook, or even grill. I really have no idea what’s in most food. I rely on the backs of packages and my wife to tell me what’s vegan. I looked at the biscuit, thought bread, and figured, sure, that’s safe. But I’m constantly amazed by what has animal-based stuff in it, from eggs to milk to whey… And if you’re like me, you have no idea what whey is. If you’re curious, it’s the by-product of cheese-making, the liquid that’s left after milk is curdled. Thank you, Wikipedia.

Back to my non-planned meals – What they served for Thursday’s lunch was champagne chicken, but they had enough salad, broccoli, and diced potatoes to make a meal for me. They also fed us breakfast and lunch Friday, but I skipped going to breakfast to eat my oatmeal, and lunch supplied me with another salad. I had to skip the pie. Cherry with a flaky crust and whipped cream… lemon meringue… okay, so perhaps I do have a few cravings, but again, I passed it by.

I also ate out Friday for dinner, skipping the fast food joints and instead opted for a Mediterranean restaurant. They had a few vegan choices, but I had a hankering for hummus with pine nuts. Filling stuff, that.

Some days are harder than others. Today we went to the Country Mill to get apple cider and doughnuts for the family. Obviously, their doughnuts aren’t on my menu (though I ended up eating one… a man can only be so strong, after all) but the cider, raw honey, and pumpkin seeds are.

My work week begins again Monday, and I’ll be bringing more salad and fruit to work. My wife also makes a fantastic egg-less salad (with tofu, vegan-aise, mustard, and other spices) and tu-no salad (with chick peas) which both taste and feel amazingly similar to what they’re pretending to be. They will end up on whole wheat bread, and will make wonderful lunches.

I think what amuses me the most about this lifestyle is the way other people react. I’ve heard sympathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry you can’t eat this fantastic lasagna.” My wife likes to remind me that it’s not that I can’t eat it, since clearly, I can walk up to the tray and stuff a big piece in my mouth. It’s apparently better if I say (to others but especially to myself) I’m choosing not to eat it. Not sure if it helps, but really, it is 100% in my control, so there’s that.

I’ve heard anger. “I am completely against veganism for women – they don’t get the proper nutrients.” That one was funny and interesting to me, since (other than the fact that I’m the opposite of a woman) she said it while I was standing near to the one other person in the office who at times in his life was vegan and is currently a vegetarian, so the two of them had an interesting back-and-forth about how as long as a woman eats the right proteins, they will do just fine with this lifestyle.

Mostly what I get is either puzzlement or bewilderment, “Why would you possibly do it?” with an added, “I could never stop eating meat, cheese, etc.” While explaining what I like to call the ‘fake meat technology’ to an avid meat eater, the look on her face was the combination of amusement and shock, with just a hint of disgust. I’m not lying when I say most of the fake meats these days have the taste and texture of real meat, but most people can’t get past the fact it’s simply not meat. (My wife believes fake meat came into being more to make meat eaters feel better about eating less meat, not so much for non-meat eaters who would much rather just eat tofu. My step-daughter, also a vegetarian, usually won’t eat the fake meats, especially the ones that act a little too much like the real thing. Grosses her out.)

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Sunday October 5, 2014 – Day 13

Weight – 158 (Hey, down a whole pound!)

I haven’t seen much of a point in making this a daily blog-thing, since things really don’t change a whole lot from day to day, and I doubt anyone really wants to hear about my every meal. Yawn, indeed. But I figure highlights are never a bad idea.

I’m around the halfway point now. No major cravings, no significant cheating (barely any insignificant cheating…more on that in a moment) and I haven’t felt the need to knock anyone down and steal their Whopper with Cheese. Two weeks in, and the weirdest things is, I still don’t seem to miss meat. I know it’s because “fake meat” tastes, looks, and feels enough like the real thing to satiate my carnal need to kill and devour the flesh of critters. I haven’t resorted to ambushing squirrels in the yard or anything. That’d be tough to explain to the neighbors. “What? No, we’re just playing. Isn’t that right, Squirrelly Joe? Oh, uh, shhhh… he’s sleeping.”

We spent the weekend in Defiance, Ohio (cool name for a town, huh?) with my step-daughter’s family. We talked, laughed, drank wine, played the “card game for horrible people” (if you don’t know what that is, you’re most likely not a horrible person and be sure to count your blessings – but if you really have a need to know, Google away, since it’s a super fun game) and ate some good food. There were enough vegan alternatives that I wasn’t in fear of starving, but I will admit to having two forkfuls of Grandma’s cheesy potatoes. Seemed rude to completely pass those up. I also tried to have a homemade chocolate chunk cookie, but the Vegan gods were looking out for me. The cookie I tried to grab was glued to the one below it, so all I got was a single chocolate chunk. As chunks go, it was yummy! Otherwise, veganism intact.

I’ve been quite amazed that I don’t freak out over wanting what others are eating, or feel deprived with my own selection. For instance, we went out Sunday afternoon to a sports bar, the eight of us. Interesting mix in that half of us were vegetarians or vegans (okay, I’m the only current vegan but two of the others have done it at times), and they all ordered pizza with some veggies on it. The other half… well, they ordered a giant meat-filled pizza. When I ordered the veggie quesadilla, Tim looked me and said, “Really?” I just shrugged. When their pizza arrived, I did my level best not to drool directly onto their food. But really, it was fine, since that quesadilla tasted amazing!

This leads me to my next revelation. The food I’m eating is starting to taste incredibly good to me. My sometimes-vegan co-worker asked me last week, “Is food starting to taste better yet?” I hadn’t heard that my taste buds would wake up and smell the tofu, but I’m sure glad they are. I never knew a yellow pepper could taste this yummy without being submerged in ranch.

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Thursday October 9 – Day 17

Weight – 157 (Look at me disappear!)

When I wake up, I sometimes do a half-hour on the elliptical machine while watching The Daily Show or The Colbert Report on Hulu. Sometimes I sleep in and, well, don’t do those things, and feel a titch guilty about it. But I always weigh myself. I do it in the morning and at the end of the day. I’ve been recording the end-of-day weight above, because they seem more, I dunno, reliable I suppose. In the morning, I always weigh a bit less. This morning, I weighed 154 pounds. I’m not really doing this for any weight loss, but y’know, a smaller belly would be groovy.

Still no major cravings and no intentional cheating. Absolutely no meat in 17 days. Dairy/eggs/lard/cheese – none purposely. But I swear the powers-that-be hide that stuff in every freakin’ thing! I’m getting adept at reading nutrition labels and deciphering what things mean. For instance, here’s something that will probably blow your mind. Many products, like breakfast cereal, are not vegan because they have sheep in them. Or more specifically, they have vitamin D added. Right, I know that sounds goofy, since vitamin D is what we get from the sun and from cow’s milk. (Still weird to write that – cow’s milk.) But when they add vitamin D3 to cereal and other items, it’s derived from lanolin – sheep’s wool. From the article “Vitamin D and Lanolin” by Christine Wells and Laura Schults from the website gentleworld.org, “Lanolin is a waxy substance derived from sheep’s wool. One of the medicinal uses of lanolin is in the manufacture of Vitamin D.” If you see D3 on a label, it’s almost always from sheep, and thus is not vegan. (I’m not being that militant about my vegan challenge, mind you. I just found that fascinating, and a bit disgusting.)

Still the hardest part is eating at restaurants. That really tasty quesadilla I mentioned a few days ago? I suspect it was cooked in a butter-type oil. Probably why it tasted like the Gods themselves prepared it for me. Dude! Seriously. See, I don’t generally put butter on things. I don’t smear butter on bread or toast, or even normally melt it on popcorn. But in a baked good or food at a restaurant? Goodness. But I have found a couple of places to eat at that I can trust. For lunch, there’s a fantastic place called Leaf. It’s essentially a giant salad bar. They have dozens of options so I could completely skip the meat/cheese/egg section and pile my spinach/lettuce combo up with veggies, tofu, chick peas, sunflower seeds, and Wasabi peas. (On a salad? Yes please!) They also have soups, and one is always labeled as either vegetarian or vegan. Today I had the vegan minestrone. Wow was that good! Spicier than I would’ve expected, and quite filling.

At work today, on the kitchen counter sat a little slice of what I seriously suspect was decadent heaven. Someone had brought in a brownie/cake looking thing with chocolate swirls on the upper-most layer and walnuts sprinkled upon the top. I walked by that thing, oh I dunno, let’s say eighteen times. I kept trying to decide if I should hack off a corner, or cut a square in half and devour that, or pick up the whole thing and cram it into my mouth while making wildebeest noises of delight. I mean, I’ve been super good after all, and chocolate is, scientifically speaking, the best thing God or mortal humans ever invented. That’s a proven fact that I just made up.

But in the end, I simply decided not to eat it, each of those eighteen times. I am surely torturing myself, you may think, but it’s another of the odd things that’s going on in my brain. I realize that I’m NOT ON A DIET. I’m not doing this to lose weight. It’s scientific curiosity, pure and simple. I just looked at it, and decided I didn’t need it. I’m more interested in the results than in eating that surely delightful blob of bliss. But I also reminded myself that I have some almond milk mocha ice cream bars at home that taste a lot better than they may sound. They really do.

How do I feel after 17 days? Well, my neck had been sore but has felt better this week. However, I’ve had a headache every day this week but today. I essentially traded one pain for another. Not sure if it has anything to do with the food choices, but I have been told to expect headaches as the “toxins leave my body.” I’m sure I still have plenty of toxins left to expunge, from the refined sugars to the dirty thoughts in my head, so I don’t know if that’s anything or not. But it’s fun to think about. (The toxins, not the dirty thoughts. Though those are also quite enjoyable.) I was also warned about what I so delicately referred to earlier on as “flushing issues.” I had one so-called episode that woke me up at 3am earlier this week, but that’s been pretty much the long and short of it. (I was going to say “the thick and thin of it,” but that may leave a bit less to the imagination than is necessary for polite conversation.) Suffice it to say it has not been a major problem.

I have been more tired this week, but some of that is not getting enough sleep. It may be that “lack of protein” the masses tend to go on about, but I know that if I don’t get 8 hours of sleep a night, I’m all kinds of yawny. Still, I’ve had more afternoon coffee than I’d care to admit. I’ll try to sleep more next week and see if that helps.

So, I still feel like me – a bit more headachy, a bit sleepier, and a couple of pounds less – but still that happy, silly me that apparently has dirty thoughts about toxins, or something.

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Sunday October 12 – Day 20

Weight – 156

Here’s two seriously important words about soy: Male boobies.

Now that I have your attention, here’s a bunch more.

One of the accepted staples of a vegan diet is soy. However, I’d heard a few rumors about soy that I didn’t care for, so I did some research. The first website I ran across was Men’s Health. The article had the alarming title, Is This the Most Dangerous Food for Men? It starts by introducing us to a man who had painful, swollen breasts, with nipples the size of gum-balls, decreased sexual desire, and a slowly feminizing body (hair loss, increased emotion, a sudden love for shoes… okay, I made that last one up). Reading the article further (they spent way too long getting to what we already knew, given the point of the article and all) they finally point out that this dude was drinking three quarts of soy milk a day for a long time, and it was doing things to his body. In fact, his estrogen levels were eight times that of a normal man!

According to an article By Ireland Wolfe on Livestrong.com entitled Is Soy Milk Bad for Men? Soy milk contains isoflavones which, according to the American Cancer Society, can have weak estrogen-like activity. (Another article, from eHow.com by Jill Corleone, said soy contains a plant form of estrogen known as phytoestrogen.)

The Livestrong article, quoting a Harvard study, says isoflavones reduced sperm concentration in men. Although the reduction was small, it was considered statistically significant, though the study indicated that it most affected overweight or obese men. (This isn’t that worrisome for me personally. I’m not overweight, and I think my kid-having days are pretty much behind me anyway.)

The article also sites that some research suggests large doses of soy may decrease penile function, but the study was done on rats, and really, no one wants to run into an aroused rat in a dark laboratory room anyway.

In addition, the article proposes that there could be behavioral issues with ingesting soy. Researchers from Wake Forest University Baptist Medical Center did tests on monkeys. (Again with the animal testing! What is it with scientists and force-feeding stuff to animals?) The monkeys fed the highest amount of isoflavones demonstrated more aggressive and submissive behavior than their counterparts. They also spent less time with other monkeys and increased their alone time. (Honestly, if I was a monkey locked in a lab and hopped up on soy, I’d probably be angry, passive, and just leave me alone already, Mr. Mumbles!)

However, I read a few more articles and found some good reasons for men to take soy. According to the eHow article, Men with high intakes of nonfermented soy foods — tofu, soy milk and soy oil — have lower rates of prostate cancer, according to the National Cancer Institute. The eHow article goes on to say populations that have a high intake of soy have lower rates of heart disease, according to the American Heart Association. Additionally, eating soy protein instead of animal protein may help lower cholesterol levels and reduce your risk of heart disease. Also, it says soy contains all of the essential amino acids, making it a complete source of protein. And, unlike meat, soy does not contain unhealthy saturated fats.

So, depending on which of the dozens (and dozens… I really should be in bed now) of articles you choose to read, soy will either give you male ta-tas and a floppy tally whacker, or will help you live longer and be healthier.

My take on it is this – I’ll continue to put a fair amount of soy into my diet, preferably from tofu which seems to be the healthiest version – some studies indicate that cooking soy will neutralize the estrogen-causing effects. But regardless, I certainly won’t be guzzling quarts of soy milk every day. Everything in moderation, that’s been my motto for a good share of my life, so why abandon it now?

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Friday October 17 – Day 25

Weight – 154 / Stomach Size – 36 inches

Now that I look at the calendar, I see it won’t be an exactly 30 day challenge, since I do my biometric screening on Tue 10/21. But calling it the 29-day challenge didn’t sound as cool.

So far, I’ve lost five pounds, and a couple in inches off my belly. Not huge, but not bad either. Of course, I’m not doing this for either of those things, so the big “reveal” will be after I get the results of the biometric screening.

One of the big questions I’ve had is in whether or not I’m getting enough protein. Really, I have absolutely no idea how much protein I’m even supposed to have, so I went to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Internet.

The first website that responded to the question, “How much protein does the average man need?” was livestrong.com. An article named after exactly my question says the average fella needs 56 grams of protein daily, and upwards of 113 grams if said dude is working on a resistance training program, or is climbing mountains or running from zombies. I told this to my wife (the 56 grams bit, not about running from zombies…she’s already told me she’ll be zombie fodder so her daughter and I can get away… bless her heart!), and she thought 56 grams was insanely high. So, let’s see what other websites have to say.

An article by Michelle Kerns on a website called Healthy Eating also says 56 grams for the average male, but at least it defines the word average. The article, quoting statistics compiled by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, states the average American man weighs approximately 195 pounds and is 5 feet, 8 inches tall. For this height and weight, the Institute of Medicine’s Food and Nutrition Board also recommends about 56 grams of protein each day. Of course, I’m not that tall and nowhere near that heavy, so I’m probably closer to needing 40 or 45 grams daily. However, this same article goes on to say that plant-based foods, other than quinoa and soy, lack one or more of the amino acids needed for protein synthesis. But as long as I eat different plant-based proteins together or even throughout the day, (the article gives the example of eating whole-grain bread at breakfast, rice at lunch, and beans at dinner) I’ll be fine.

Honestly, I still can’t say that I feel much different. I haven’t been headachy this week and I’ve been getting regular sleep so I’m not going gangbusters on the coffee intake. I’ve noticed I’m not eating as much overall, which certainly can’t be a bad thing. I do find my attitudes toward food and particularly desserts has been different. I went to a funeral for a dear friend yesterday, and afterward the members of her church had a potluck. Like good Episcopalians, they had a lot of cakes, cookies, and brownies, as well as a plethora of meat-based foods. However, I was able to fill my plate with fruit, veggies, and pasta, so it was all good… and okay, a small square of brownie found its way onto my plate as well. In the past, that plate would’ve been essentially meatballs and desserts, so that’s a plus for me. However, I ate two bites of the brownie and asked my wife to eat the rest. I got a taste – a wonderful, decadent taste – and I was satisfied. I have to wonder if this portion control will continue after Wednesday. I certainly hope so, but we’ll see.

Home stretch – four more days to go!

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Thursday, October 23, 2014 – Final Thoughts and Test Results

Weight – 153 Pounds / Waist – 34 inches

After 30 days (I ended up going an extra day, cuz I really wanted a round number), I ended up losing around six pounds and two inches off my waistline. Not bad, but the main reason I did this was for the metabolic screening that my employer administered to me on Tuesday 10/21. The results in a moment, but first, some perspective.

I have two other metabolic screening results I can compare with – One done 3/18/2013 and the other from 4/30/14. This gives me a before and after comparison, as well as a previous year look-back. Here are the results:

Test Name                                          3/2013                  4/2014                  10/2014                Ref Range

Total Cholesterol                              186                         196                         189                         125-200

LDL “Bad” Cholesterol                    109                         127                         110                         <130

HDL “Good” Cholesterol                   57                           46                           54                           >40

Cholesterol to HDL Ratio               3.3                          4.3                          3.5                          <=5.0

Triglycerides                                       98                           113                         126                         <150

Glucose                                              83                           94                           85                           65-99

As you can see, my vegan challenge lowered most of my numbers to near my 2013 levels. One way to look at it is, in one month I erased 70-90% of what it took a year and a half to accumulate. Not bad at all.

The one number that surprises and concerns me is the triglycerides, since it continued to increase. So what are triglycerides? Darn good question that, so I went online to find out. According to WebMD, triglycerides are fat in the blood and are used to provide energy to the body. They are the main type of fat in the body, and the end result of digesting and breaking down fats in our food. Some triglycerides, it also says, are made in the body from other energy sources such as carbohydrates.

This could explain why mine continued to increase. Since I didn’t cut out carbs from my diet, my body was probably getting its fat from that source. While I’m still below the reference level, it still concerns me that it went up so much. But overall, my levels dropped quite nicely after only one month.

Here are my final thoughts on my 30-day vegan challenge. I didn’t find it difficult, for the most part, not eating meat. Between the fake meats and the enjoyable-tasting substitutions, I honestly didn’t miss the lack of meat in my diet. I must’ve kept up my protein levels, because I didn’t notice any ill effects. However, avoiding cheese, eggs, and dairy was the toughest part. Eating at home or preparing my own food was a lot easier than eating out, since most restaurants have few options for the complete vegan. Still, I enjoyed some fine food in the real world.

Though I can’t say I had tons more energy, in the last few days I did feel I had a bit more of a pep in my step. I didn’t have any headaches that last week either, and I made sure to get my eight hours of sleep so I felt awake and alert. I also noticed that my wedding ring was a lot looser. My wife noticed the same thing when she did her vegan challenge, so I suspect not eating dairy must do something like reduce the amount of water retention. Or going vegan is a diet for the fingers. Either way, I have to be careful not to wash my ring right off my finger!

The logical next question is, what did I eat the day after the challenge? Well, I didn’t run out and pound a Quarter Pounder, gnaw on a stick of butter, or tackle and devour a gazelle. In fact, I didn’t have meat or dairy until the next day. My first bit of animal flesh came about at work, where they catered in breakfast on Wednesday. They sure do feed us a lot, huh? I had a scoop of cheesy potatoes and a slice of quiche with sausage embedded in it. (My plan was to take a veggie quiche slice, but they didn’t have that option.) I also saw the vat of bacon, and thought why not? While I tried to tong-out just one strip, they are paper-thin and I ended up with two. I figured the God of Carnivoria wanted me to have it, so I ate both pieces. Oh my, was that scrumptious! My taste buds were still in overdrive, and these bits of flavor wowed me like nobody’s business.

However, an hour or so later and my stomach started rumbling and aching. Uh-huh… not the smartest move, eating that much non-vegan stuff after a month of abstaining. When my chest started hurting, I got a bit worried. Oh great, I thought, the first bit of cholesterol I ate in a month went straight to my heart and is gonna kill me right here! Obviously, all melodrama aside, I was fine a little while later, but it was something to think about. I’d planned on easing back in, but not so much of a win there.

In the week that’s followed, I’ve only had a couple of bits of meat. A cocktail weenie here, a small mound of pulled pork there. However, I’m back riding the dairy pony big time. Sour cream, yogurt, ranch dressing, cheesy potatoes, cheese soup, cheesy cheese cheesers with cheese topping. Sorry, I just made a Homer Simpson-esque sound deep in my throat.

Overall, I am planning on making meat a once to twice a week treat only, and will try to avoid the extra-added cheese and cream toppings whenever possible. Both times I visited a restaurant this week I ordered the vegetarian meal, but I can’t seem to say no to sour cream… though I’m going to start giving it a try. I figure if I can keep the cholesterol to a minimum, all the better for my health.

So there you have it. While I’m obviously not saying you will drop tons of cholesterol, or even lower yours like I did mine, eating a bit less meat and dairy can only help you in the long run. Take it from me, a meat eater whose gone semi-vegan.

Who is Pinball Pete? How did the video/pinball arcade get its start? What’s with the pink elephant?

The answer to all of these questions, and many more, are found in a Q-and-A style article I wrote after interviewing Ted Arnold, the owner and one of the founders of Pinball Pete’s.

It’s a fun read that was originally published in Retrocade Magazine. Check it out:

Santa’s Big Night

By Randy D Pearson (c) 2026

An audible thud echoed through the quiet house when Santa Claus landed, posterior first, at the base of the chimney.  A small cloud of ash rose into the air around him, and he waved his right hand haphazardly in an attempt to help disperse it. After the jolly old elf stifled a sneeze, he got up and took one step away from the grungy fireplace.  However, the metal log holder grabbed his pant leg, sending him tumbling across the carpeted floor.  Once Santa came to a stop, he lay there for a moment on his ample stomach, quietly chuckling. Then, rolling onto his back, he gave the log holder a quick glare.  “I hate those things,” he muttered softly.

Saint Nick crawled over to the coffee table, using it to hoist his rotund frame up to his feet.  He stood in place for a few moments, swaying gently from side to side. Once he regained his balance, his vision drifted toward the family Christmas tree positioned in the corner of the modest house. He smiled, uttering, “Wowww… Tha’ssa nice tree.”  After making his way over to the festively decorated pine tree, he bent down to get a closer look at some of the ornaments.

As he admired some of the hand-made decorations, one in particular caught his attention. Hanging heavily on the lowest branch, this papier mache’ rendition of Santa portrayed him as a pear-shaped lump of red, white, and black. Obviously made by a young child, this six-inch by four-inch ornament had no actual face, only a cotton ball glued to the upper third of it, presumably for the beard. Once Santa’s gaze fell upon the Santa Blob, he burst out in laughter. While still chortling mightily, he felt compelled to hold it, so he reached for the bulbous creation and promptly toppled into the tree, scattering several bulbs about. “Oops.”

Once he got his mitten-covered hands on the misshapen creation, he sat cross-legged on the carpet, giggling like a schoolgirl. The overly-jolly old elf sat for several minutes, until his laughter calmed to only occasional snickers.

Afterwards, he attempted to place the ornament back on the tree, but unfortunately, he tried to place it on an upper branch.  The heavy Santa Blob quickly plowed through the branches, all the way to the floor, taking with it many more decorations.  “Uh-ohhh…”

Kris Kringle spent several more minutes gathering the stray bulbs, and tossing them back on the tree.  When he finished, the tree looked lopsided, with too many bulbs in one location and a noticeable bare spot in another, but he shrugged it off.

Realizing he had wasted a lot of time fooling with the family’s tree, Santa decided to get back to work.  Then, a thought occurred to him.  “Where’s my bag a toys?”  He violently spun himself around the room, but could not find his toy sack. All the spinning made him dizzy, so he stopped and tittered a bit.  It did not take him long, however, to get his faculties back in order.  Walking over to the chimney, he gave the pant leg-snagging grate a quick shove with his boot, then reached up inside the chimney and retrieved his bag.  “Darn thing got stuck again.”

With his toy sack on the carpeted floor in front of the tree, he opened it so he could retrieve the presents designated for this family.  But then, another thought struck him.  “Where’m I at?  Oh no… I forgot.”  With a new mission in mind,  Santa started rummaging through the desk drawers, trying not to make much noise but failing miserably.  Finally, after three unsuccessful drawers, he found a coloring book with the name Jennie written in crayon on the front cover.  “A-ha!” he exclaimed, louder than he intended. He then placed a finger to his lips and uttered a giggly, “Shhhh.”

While digging through his bag for a present with a Jennie tag on it, he heard the floor creak around the corner.  “Uh oh.”

An adorable, curious little girl poked her head around the corner.  “Santa?  Is that you?”

“Darn,” he whispered, “I hate it when I wake ‘em up.”  He marched over to the little girl and gave her a quiet, but authoritative, “Ho ho ho! Merry Chrisssmiss, Jennie!”

“Oh Santa, it is you!”  She hugged her hero, and looked into his eyes.

“I gotta nice presssent for youu, butcha gotta go back to sleep, honey. Okay?”

The girl smiled and replied, “Okay. Thanks.”  Then she furrowed her brow, and asked, “Are you all right, Santa?  You sound kinda funny. You smell strange, too.”

He suppressed a giggle, and ripped out another barrage of “Ho’s,” then said, “I’m juss fine, honey.  Now let’s get ya ta bed.”

“Okay Santa.”

Saint Nick walked Jennie to her room and tucked her in.  As he turned to leave, she whispered, “Oh, and Santa, there’s a little something for you on the kitchen table.”

He smiled, and strolled out of her room, weaved down the hall, and back to the sack of toys.

After setting around the tree all of the presents he had with the name Jennie on them, he closed his bag and sauntered over to the chimney.  As he turned to make one final glance around the room, he spotted something on the kitchen table, and then remembered the little girl’s words.  He hiked into the kitchen and saw it.  There sat a bottle of beer and a plate of Beer Nuts next to a note saying, “I hope you like it better than what I left last year.”

“Oh wow…she remembered!  Whazzat makeit…Oh yeah, the 18th place that remembered my new ad campaign, What Santa Wants More Than Milk and Cookies.”  So, Santa guzzled the beer, wolfed down the nuts, and staggered over to the chimney.  He took one look at it, then said, “Nah…” and stumbled out the front door.

“HO HO HO He He He heheheheheheheheeeee…..”

© 1994, 2000, 2008, 2015 by Randy D Pearson

All rights reserved

Crimes A ’la Almondine

(c) 2016 By Randy D Pearson

“Gather around,” summoned Head Chef Marcel. “Today’s specials are Beef Wellington and Trout Almondine. Now get out there and make me proud.”

As the assistant cooks and waitstaff dispersed, Marcel said to Joe, “Hey, hold up a minute,” pulling him aside. “I thought you should know your parole officer stopped by earlier. We had a nice chat.”

Joe’s face went pale. “Oh God! I’m so sorry sir! I shouldda told you ‘bout my prison time. But I really needed this job. Please don’t fire me!”

Letting loose a sharp chuckle, Marcel replied, “It’s okay! We’re not firing you. He was just checking up on you, making sure you’re coming to work and doing a good job. I said all sorts of nice things about you. Besides, we knew where you spent the last four years. Did you seriously think we didn’t know about your record?”

Joe lowered his head as he spoke. “I didn’t say nothing at the interview.”

“While it’s true you should’ve confided in me, it’s really not a problem. We run background checks on everyone before we hire them. Do you want to know something? You’re not even the worst offender here.”

Joe’s eyes shot open. “Whatdya mean?”

Turning his head, Marcel yelled, “Hey Van, come over here a minute.” When the tall, skinny dishwasher approached, Marcel added, “Show Joe your ankle-bracelet.”

Van reached down and lifted his right pant leg to uncover an electronic tether. “This bit of jewelry is whatcha get for robbing a bank with a banana and a wad of Silly Putty with wires sticking outta it.”

Patting Van on the shoulder, Marcel said, “Love it! You gotta tell Joe the whole story after work. It’s a riot!” Then as a short, heavy-set waitress came bounding in, Marcel said, “Hey Margaret, what was your crime again?”

She paused for a moment before replying, “Passion. Ya don’t mess with my man!”

Marcel whispered, “Flambé – it’s what’s for dessert.”

Once she left, Marcel said, “See, it’s fine. The owner likes to hire people who can’t get jobs elsewhere. We all have records here.”

Pointing, Joe said, “What, even you?”

“Yup. I killed a man. They stuck me in the kitchen to teach me a trade. Turned out I liked cooking, and now I’m the head chef. Check this out.” Reaching into his pocket, Marcel removed a tarnished spoon, with the handle filed to a point. “I keep this shiv as a reminder of my wicked past.” Marcel patted Joe on the shoulder and added, “Now get those mushrooms cut.”

“Okay,” Joe said, “but can I use a knife instead? That shiv doesn’t look sharp enough.”

Local author spins deft trail tale in ‘Trac Brothers’

Ray Walsh

For the Lansing State Journal

March 17, 2018, 9:18 a.m. ET

“Trac Brothers” by local author Randy D. Pearson (Edcocaly Press, $13.99) is an unusual tale set in Michigan, featuring many scenes of unexpected action.

It showcases Jam and Jax Trachsel, two young brothers from Lansing who get an inheritance from their uncle Mac, who lived in a big farmhouse near Manton, a town in the northern west portion of the state.

They don’t get the house or any of the oddities scattered throughout – they inherit a wooden, 1897 Kalamazoo brand railroad handcar, buried under a tarp in a big barn.

Think of the movie “Blazing Saddles” and you get the picture – except the brothers get stranded outside the farmhouse with no place to stay.

They decide to go home by rail, back to Lansing, figuring it should be fun and wouldn’t take too long.

As they move the heavy rail car out of the barn and onto the nearby tracks, they discover an intriguing hand-drawn map created by their uncle.

It has directions on how to get to Walton Junction, a long-forgotten shamble of a ghost town, about 10 miles north, not far from Fife Lake.

After figuring out how to use the handcar, the exhausted young men return to the farmhouse, where they discover sleeping bags and a tent in the barn.

The next day, their curiosity piqued, they decide to check out the map and respect their uncle’s legacy – using it as an excuse to have an adventure.

They have no idea what they’re getting into – especially when they run into a group called the Rail Riders, who live in the area and have their own handcars.

Soon, they’re all involved in a skirmish with a nasty opposing bunch called the Track Pirates, and Santascoy, their psychotic leader, who’s in search of the map.

The adventure continues, full of bizarre scenes of violence and mayhem with a sprinkle of dark humor and romance. The author deftly mixes fact with fiction – Walton Junction is real, as are the railroad lines and the Steam Railroading Institute in Owosso.

Pearson is an experienced, clever storyteller who is a member of the Grand Ledge writers group “Writing at the Ledges,”

He has produced a collection of memorable short stories, “Tell Me a Story” as well as an acclaimed debut novel, “Driving Crazy.”

Book signing:

Randy D. Pearson will be signing books at a Release Party on Friday, March 23 from 5-7:30 p.m. at Everybody Reads Books and Stuff, 2019 East Michigan Ave., Lansing.

Ray Walsh, owner of East Lansing’s Curious Book Shop, has reviewed crime novels and Michigan books regularly since 1987.

Walsh Book Review: Duo Tries to Survive Bizarre Road Trip

Ray Walsh • For the Lansing State Journal

May 2, 2010

“Driving Crazy” by Lansing author Randy D. Pearson (Riley Press, $12.99) is an unusual, entertaining debut by a talented writer.

It focuses on the adventures of two buddies who take a long journey from the Capital City to Weedpatch, Calif., and beyond, to pick up a classic arcade game.

Set in the worrisome pre-Y2K era over 10 years ago, it showcases the adventures of Jay Naylor, who won the “Crazy Climber” machine in an E-Bay auction but can’t afford the huge shipping charges.

He convinces his laid-back best friend to join him and they borrow a beat-up pickup truck and hit the road with great intentions and little money. They make bizarre excuses and manage to get time off work, but their quick, easy trip doesn’t quite go as planned.

After a disastrous setback in Nashville, Tenn., the carefree duo continues on, using their quick thinking to struggle for survival.

On the way back, they run into more challenges – they’re scuffling for gas money and come up with a unique idea to raise funds.

The pair have lots of adventures, including a standoff with angry motorcycle gang members and a disgruntled bar owner.

There are other advantages to the trip, though, as the friends encounter many positive attitudes of assorted residents of small town America.

The last third of the paperback covers a trip to Florida, with unexpected reactions and life-changing results.

Expanded from a short story he wrote years ago, “Driving Crazy” includes scenes set in Lansing, as well as references to Pinball Pete’s, a classic East Lansing underground arcade.

Pearson, who’s won national writing awards, also contributed four short stories to “Small Towns: a Map in Words.” He’s now editing the second anthology in the series and is planning to publish a short story collection.

Here are some Walton Junction photos I took in the area

The tracks and the surrounding area

Photos from the Old Walton Junction Cemetery, as well as the Fife Lake Cemetery, where most of the men and women buried at Walton Junction were moved to.

Walton Marsh / Outlet – where they grew cranberries from around 1890 until the mid 1920s

What’s left of the town