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FREE Diet Story

Available here FREE, THE LONELINESS OF A VEGETARIAN, a quixotic and humorous report on the personal conflicts, the loneliness and the joys of adopting a socially conscious and healthy diet. This is an insightful report on the relationship between vegan healer, Dr. Rotondi, and his film maker. This document is an encouraging guide for would-be vegetarians and a reassuring, humorous testimonial for experienced vegans. This report contains the first satirical list which distinguishes 14 different kinds of vegetarians.


	After my first year in California where I had found a diet guru named Doctor Rotondi, I visited my home in Michigan. My girlfriend there said she never felt far from me while I was out of state until I changed my diet. "Now we are in two different universes," she said. "You’re in the vegetarian universe and I am in the meat eating universe." My mother thought I was risking my life. My father advised getting a good job before I changing my diet. Vegetarians comprise a voluntary minority. There may be a few patients who were forced by their doctors to swear off flesh foods. However, most vegetarians have chosen their "rigorous" and socially abrasive lifestyle. There are some unique pleasures associated with culinary ideals as well as surprising conflicts. To chose a morally perfect diet is to go against not only the mainstream eaters, but also against several distinct sects of the vegetarian community itself. Striving for ideal food is a lonely endeavor, but I believe it is the healthiest choice for the whole world. When I first heard about a 91 year old chiropractor in LA, I approached his house to learn something about getting off the meat habit. What looked like a troll in a striped shirt was in evidence on a big porch. His hound’s tooth pattern polyester pants had grass clippings clinging to them and they were held up by a single suspender. On his feet were 99 cent rubber thongs. He sat on an old sofa covered with two quilts printed in clashing colors. "Hey Charlie, is that you?" he said in a Brooklyn accent with a small laugh. I told him my name. "Aha," he said without looking at me. "But is that who you really are?" The sign next to his door included his name: "Dr. Pietro Rotondi: Free services to the blind. World Vegetarian Headquarters." I asked this wrinkled, slouching, somewhat round vegan who he expected to read his sign. "Not all blind people have to be blind," Doctor Rotondi shrugged, "if they know the proper way of living." After introducing him to my friends, some of whom called him a buzzard because of his bald eagle dome, hooked nose and raspy voice, I found out Doctor Rotondi did not necessarily cure blindness. Nor did he necessarily charge money to anybody. On that first day, however, I thought that if he could cure blindness, he probably could teach me to give up my craving for dairy products. I told the old doctor I liked cheese. That he had eaten no cheese, nor chicken, fish, beef, pork, eggs, milk, nor any animal products of any kind whatsoever except honey, for over 65 years, seemed awesome to me. His response was simply, "Everybody likes cheese: concentrated protein." That startled me. For a health expert to imply my tastes may be normal made me want to hear more. My previous vegetarian friends had informed me that our culture has an addictive attitude toward protein. We consume ten times more of it than we need. What the doctor said next on that first meeting, however, was even more startling. He said, "If you want to be a vegetarian, the first thing you have to give up is all your friends." I returned about 50 times over the next 18 months to record this eccentric healer with my lens. Doctor Rotondi seemed to have no expectations about the big tube style video camera. When I turned it on, he talked. When I turned it off, he fed me. The menu included beans, bananas, pancakes and popcorn as well as tons of salad fashioned from all manner of herbs, roots, bulbs, fruits, leaves, berries, oils, seeds, grains and nuts prepared in myriad ways including by soaking, swirling, aerating, spicing and dehydrating. Who says a vegetarian diet lacks variety? The love of womanhood was part of the old doctor’s health ideal. He had been without a spouse since his wife perished from a high fever during childbirth in 1919, and he was committed to celibacy and service since then. His address book connected me with several of his adoring fans, male and female, who showed tremendous awe for Doctor Rotondi and gave him little girl dolls for his birthday. Stuffed dolls with yarn hair and plastic dolls with realistic synthetic hair were poised in their dresses on his mantle, his many chairs and on top of his big bird cage. There was a corpulent bronze Buddah and a bust of Zeus on the mantle amid the dolls. Looming above was a painting of a many armed Hindu deity. On the adjacent walls were paintings of halo-adorned winged female angels in long flowing gowns. Women rulers of all nations would be the only hope for our planet, he said. He expected to be reincarnated as a woman. His attitude toward women prior to his marriage, however, had not been lofty. He was promiscuous. Still apparent in his wizened face was Doctor Rotondi’s pride in his ability to make women find his wink and his gravelly voice irresistible. Though his short stature was further shortened by his aged and sloped shoulders, his neck would not turn well and his gait was a slow shuffle, my shrunken mentor savored his virility. Though our age difference was nearly seven decades, my doctor and I were two locker room gossips comparing conquests of the darlings. Telling tales of seduction was my elfin friend’s tactic of winning my attention to his philosophy about the affect food has on everything. Doctor Rotondi donned a pin striped suit with a flowery tie, dangled ancient theosophical medallions around his neck and perched a squawking parrot on his shoulder whenever he accompanied me to a new location. Shopping with him at the farmers’ market was, for me, showing off to the world my personal genie. With him I was proud that I no longer was destined to age awkwardly and I was part of the solution to pollution, soil erosion and species extinction. A cow has to eat ten times its weight in plants before it can become food for humans. Plants and ecosystems residing in meadows, therefore, are saved by our consumption of plants. With the doctor by my side, I felt I was one of the world’s models of morality. When I was swallowing the old doctor’s wisdom literally as well as figuratively, it became scary for me to be around other people who ate "normally." Would I always have to bring my own shredded yams with me into restaurants? Would people everywhere take offense at my saying, "no thank you," to pizza or cream filled pastries? Would skeptics forever demand from whence comes my protein? Perhaps even worse was my ongoing attempt to convert my meat eating acquaintances. For a couple years my friends and family had to endure my exaltations on the benefits of gluten steak, a heavy wheat sausage which I used to insist they sample while I exhorted them with its power to prevent arteriosclerosis, diabetes, osteoporosis and cancer. Even when I just said it tasted good, they winced in suspicion that I meant they should be ashamed of something. I may not have scolded anybody for their food choice in a long while, but I am still tempted to. Some of my friends are diet idealists who picket against fur coat emporiums, McDonalds, and health food stores which sell high quality meat. These activists for culinary perfection invite me to potluck meals where they share remedies for near sightedness, charley horses, and ear wax build-up. The two main reasons for diet discipline are personal health and animal welfare. Curiously, those motivated by the well being of other creatures are known for fewer incidents of "cheating." Animal lovers sneak fewer cream donuts than do health addicts. When you are just trying to take care of yourself, it seems, integrity goes out the window. Guests at food activism potlucks include several levels of commitment. From my experience witnessing their hurling of recipes and remedies, I have discerned the following categories: People who want to lose weight: Weight loss is a health mission. When a weight watcher partakes of off limits hors d’oeuvres or meaty meals, he or she claim’s that, "What you do once in a while won’t hurt you." Those who call themselves vegetarians, "Except I eat chicken and fish." They are not well represented at vegetarian potlucks for obvious reasons. Vegedarians: These cheese eating, milk drinking and possibly even egg eating novices may be overly proud that omitting beef, chicken and fish from their diet reduces their risk of cancer and heart disease. They also may believe milk and cheese usage implies divine symbiosis with cattle who are grateful to have their milk extracted by humans. Regardless, they are considered rank amateurs by vegans. Vegans: A: The health minded vegans are proud of qualifying for the "compassionate" lifestyle. Recipes and food supplements comprise a great part of their conversation. B: The animal rights minded vegans are so concerned with the horrors of vivisection - the laboratory torture of dogs and cats in cosmetic and pharmaceutical industries - that they religiously read ingredient labels to avoid any cookie that may contain whey. However they may be willing to eat greasy potato chips and they have a petition for you to sign. Food combiners: These include health oriented vegans. Most of their gossip is directed toward the supposed danger of swallowing proteins with sugars. You are heathen, they assert, if you chew an almond in a bite of an apple. Living food practitioners: These non-cooks idealize primal humans who used to graze for a living. They approximate grazing by sprouting their rice in a damp jar so that it is alive at the moment of ingestion. They believe animals are as unhealthy to ingest as cooked rice, loaf breads, bagged, boxed and canned foods. Raw foodists: Packaged foods generally do not cross the palettes of these zealots who nevertheless indulge in bottled oils and soaked but unsprouted raw grain. I personally joined this category when I gave up my stove. However my private use of food supplements which contain some ingredients that may be deplored by the group has kept me wondering whether I truly belong. Fruitarians: A: Medically minded fruitarians only eat what they call the most nourishing part of the plant - the part immediately surrounding the seed. Squash may be in their diet, and they may even cook it. Pumpkin seeds, watermelon seeds, and apple seeds are largely avoided, as are nuts. B: Humane fruitarians strive to eat entirely without violence. They have no problem eating a peach along with the almond like center of its pit. Fruit as well as nuts are in their diet because such things can be harvested without causing the death of the plant. Macrobiotics: Fruit is entirely forbidden, according to followers of this sect, because it is too yin. The Japanese originator of this ideal said you should eat grains that grow in a climate similar to your own. Natural Hygienists: These health addicts have perhaps the most clinical lingo, saying such things as, "Food includes substances whose elements are convertible into the constituent matters of the tissues." They advise counting jaw movements and keeping eyes shut during mastication as well as remaining standing so as not to bend the body during digestion. People who fast: Although religious and politically motivated fasters appear in the media, it is mainly health minded fasters who feel comfortable at a vegetarian potluck. They are congratulated on their commitment to cleansing. Their favorite topics of conversation are the mixing of enemas and where in town to obtain a good colonic. Breatharian: This type of non meat eater may only exist on a mythic level but is fondly invoked at many vegetarian potlucks. The breatharian has supposedly refined his or her physiology to such a high state that solid food can be foregone and complete nourishment can be obtained from air itself, preferably Alpine air where micro-organisms are minimized. Urine Drinkers: Although no pitcher of urine is likely to be found on a buffet at a vegetarian potluck, there is a group of idealists who brag that their rashes, ulcers and indigestion were healed from swallowing what they call the human body’s own self-generated homeopathic substance. The consumers of raw meat: To everybody else’s horror, a sub faction of the raw foodists has evolved. At their private camp they share their ideal of the best primal diet: totally unheated raw beef, skunk and squirrel. ??? There is room for more idealistic food sects. Perhaps one is incubating which believes the best nourishment can be obtained from electric shocks. It remains to be seen. I lived with a woman vegan while editing my Doctor Rotondi documentary. She and the potluck crowd were my primary circle of friends. We all enjoyed gossip about how lost our outside friends and families were on their toxic unenlightened diets. My companion and I strategized to sneak raisin nut rolls into the kitchens of our parents and filter out the dairy based pastries. For Christmas we gave vegetarian recipe books to our relatives, who all sighed and said I had found my perfect mate. In private, however, I disdained my significant other’s affinity for seaweed and I was repulsed by her saccharine references to cuddly pets in movies that I was not sentimental about. One day, standing at the sink while peeling a tuber, I exalted the glory of a yam. Her response was, "You like it more than sex." That scared me. Was I really lost in my zeal? Shortly after she and I parted ways, I found myself giggling in a grocery store assisting the shopping of a woman film producer. I joyously hunted for the items on her list including egg waffles, Monterey Jack cheese and Campbell’s Minestrone Beef soup which both of us knew I would not touch. Her understanding of cinema was beautiful to me, and I found her coffee drinking downright sexy. I was falling in love with a meat eater. Would the potluckers banish me completely? Not to worry, the doctor had a friend with an exemplary past. Helen English was 75 years old when I met her, but 25 when Doctor Rotondi advised her on infant care. Her late husband had, early in their marriage, commanded her to kill a chicken on their rural property. She could not bring herself to pick up the axe. Her old fashioned husband resented her for a while simply because she had disobeyed him. That was when she became a vegan, although she continued to prepare in their kitchen the meat and dairy products her husband preferred. At a party one day she took it upon herself to get food from the smorgasbord where several cold cuts of meat were available along with chopped carrots, broccoli, cabbage, apples and melon. Helen assembled a visually beautiful plate for her spouse complete with sliced ham, sausage and cheese as well as orange, red, and green fruit and vegetable wedges. Her husband’s reaction to her smiling offer was, "It sure is beautiful, Helen, but give it to someone else. How can you bring yourself to give to me what you obviously detest?" She kept listening serenely. "Helen I must confess I feel loved. You seem completely without judgment. Because I am convinced that you truly love me, I have decided never to eat meat again." Doctor Rotondi demonstrated similar love to me. Early in our relationship I went out of town and had a single egg at a rare breakfast. I came back to him and lay face down on his chiropractic table. He commenced rubbing my back with his somewhat gnarled but dexterous hands. He sniffed a few times demonstratively, took his hands off me, and sat down. When I lifted my face and saw him smiling, he snickered. "You stink," he said softly with raised brow. "You been eating eggs." That was six days after the breakfast. It proved to me that animal foods leave residue in the body. It also proved that Doctor Rotondi was not prone to punish. Through an accident which occurred soon thereafter, my great teacher made his transition to the next world. Among those who spoke tearfully at his memorial picnic were people I had previously interviewed who said they ate meat and would continue to do so. Nevertheless they referred to Doctor Rotondi as their adopted father to whom they had offered their CPA, legal, and dental services for decades in exchange for chiropractic treatments. What was Doctor Rotondi talking about when he said to give up all my friends? I believe he meant for me to think for myself and not blindly copy my friends. If I do what they do, the doctor would probably ask me to be sure that it is what I truly choose. The effort to decide what constitutes balance, in diet or in anything, must go on continuously, because paradox will never end. How much must we participate in commerce which exploits starvation wage labor in foreign countries? How much must we drive cars which destroy our atmosphere? Doctor Rotondi provoked me to choose what I eat. The world is healing, I think, not because of how many people eat well, but because so many people are trying to. A perfect diet may actually be any diet which is deliberately chosen and not arbitrarily inherited from one’s parents or community. Choice saves one from being a Nazi who commits sins just because he was ordered to. My favorite chiropractor’s goal was for all the world’s people to be aware of the ramifications of their food choices. He did not preach about his dream, however, unless he was earnestly asked. Once when we were hurrying out of the farmers’ market, Doctor Rotondi & I were stopped by a young woman in an apron with a clipboard. She handed us coupons for free soda drinks at a nearby burger joint. "You have the most beautiful long orange braids," said my beaming mascot. "But I don’t eat in restaurants." "You must have a live-in maid," joked the girl as her hands dispensed more fliers to pedestrians. "Well," said Doctor Rotondi, waving his hand and looking away with a dismissive smile, " what I have is a funny religion." 10 June 1999 by Ben Arie Swets


	The Loneliness of a Vegetarian