There's nothing quite like a cute dog or cat picture to brighten your day, and we've gathered some of our favorite past pet-related content at GOOD Pets. And if that's not enough pets for you, check out the finds below from this past week of GOOD Finder, which features a collection of all things that are good now, as submitted by the GOOD community.

Photo via Flickr (cc) user nickb

Every Thursday, your Ethical Style questions, answered.

In the fashion industry, appropriating ethnic cultures to stock mainstream closets has long been en vogue. To sell new clothes, fashion has wrapped turbans around Edwardian heads, clasped Egyptian bracelets on flappers’ wrists, and swathed modern hipsters in American Apparel “Afrika” prints. The New York Times’ Guy Trebay has called fashion “culture’s Godzilla, devouring everything in its path.”

This season, fashion’s cultural victims are biting back. In March, the Navajo Nation sued retail giant Urban Outfitters over its line of flasks and hipster panties printed with a vaguely Native American pattern and stamped “Navajo.” When Rodarte released its Fall 2012 runway collection featuring intricate designs inspired by Aboriginal art and craft, a United Nations advocate for Aboriginal and Indigenous rights denounced the line as "completely insensitive.”

What’s so wrong about taking inspiration from other cultural traditions? After all, fashion, like American culture generally, ought to be a multicultural melting pot. It’s not, though: The fashion industry is overwhelmingly controlled by white people, from the models who walk the runways, the designers who clothe them, the fashion editors and writers who cover their every move, and the business people who market the trends to the masses. Given the background of the professionals running the show—and collecting the rewards—consumers should take a critical eye to cultural appropriation on the high-fashion runway and the fast fashion rack.

The case of the “Navajo” panties.
Mainstream America routinely appropriates Native American symbolism for a variety of inappropriate uses—sexy Halloween costumes, sports mascots, Ke$ha performances. Centuries ago, colonialists raped and murdered Native Americans, took their property, and introduced alcohol as a tool of oppression. Now, they just market boozy accessories and sexy panties in the service of hipster irony.

“Navajo” panties aren’t just generally insensitive—they’re also likely illegal. Since 1990, the Indian Arts and Crafts Act has prohibited the “misrepresentation in marketing of Indian arts and crafts products within the United States.” The act is meant to prevent non-Native manufacturers like Urban Outfitters from ripping off the traditional cultural products of Native peoples for its own profit. Faced with an alleged violation of the act, Urban Outfitters quietly changed the line’s name from “Navajo” to “printed.” (“Navajo” named goods still pop up in UO-owned Free People stores).

The case of the “Afrika” monokini.
Major fashion retailers have also gotten in trouble for lifting traditional patterns from other cultures and stamping on a less specific label—these prints are vaguely “ethnic” or “tribal” or “African.” American Apparel’s “Afrika” line is marketed under the tagline “Jungle prints are back” and marketed on the bodies of lithe white models. No ethnic group can claim a legal right to a term like “Afrika.” But many can claim offense at American Apparel’s strategy for selling monokinis to hipsters by flattening the cultural traditions of an entire continent into a sexy animal print.

The case of the OPI “Holland” nail polish.
Of course, fashion’s most high-profile cultural slights are directly related to broader systems of oppression. The extermination of Native Americans and the enslavement of Africans reverberate in American culture to this day—the fashion industry should not make light of that history to line closets. Meanwhile, OPI’s Holland collection, which markets its seasonal nail polish shades under culturally stereotypical names like “Pedal Faster Suzi!” and “I Have a Herring Problem” fails to spark outrage. While it’s a little crass to crack jokes about an entire country’s relationship to fish, the cultural exchange between Hollywood and Holland is not historically fraught. History matters, even to a seasonal fashion trend.

The case of the Rodarte “Aboriginal” dress.
When Rodarte released a fall 2012 line inspired by “the outback” and peppered with Aboriginal-inspired prints, law professor and United Nations expert Megan Davis didn’t like the look. "The thought of seeing women walking around in this particular ready-to-wear collection sickens me," said Davis, citing a long history of appropriation of Aboriginal art. " I appreciate that we live in a postmodern culture, where people do take inspiration from particular areas … But as an Aboriginal lawyer I found the designs offensive."

This time, though, the law is on Rodarte’s side. “We deeply respect and admire the work of other artists,” Rodarte responded in a statement. “Through the appropriate channels, we licensed the Aboriginal artwork that influenced prints in our collection.” Rodarte has said that it gleaned inspiration from the work of the late aboriginal artist Benny Tjangala, and each piece sold will pay royalties to his family.

A meticulously-sewn frock inspired by the Aboriginal artistic tradition may not seem as outright offensive as stamping a Navajo name on a pair of mass-produced hipster panties—particularly when an Aboriginal artist is getting paid. But when consumers slip on a Rodarte, they're unlikely to know it's really a Tjangala. How many of the line's pieces are attributed to Tjangala—and how much his family will make from them—Rodarte didn’t say. And just as Rodarte pulls from far-flung sources as inspiration for its seasonal looks, it won’t be long before the big retailers start importing cheap knockoff versions “inspired” by Rodarte’s own pieces. Rodarte may pre-license and pay for its aboriginal sourcing. Forever 21’s version will only be funding the fashion machine.

Photo via (cc) Flickr user lovefibre

The intrauterine device, or IUD, is the most effective form of reversible birth control available to women. New research shows that when the small, T-shaped device is inserted into a woman's uterus to deter sperm from reaching an egg, it's 20 times better at preventing pregnancy than the birth control pill, the hormonal patch, or the vaginal ring. Condom failure rates are even worse. In one study, 75 percent of women said they'd prefer an IUD to alternate forms of contraception. Still, only 5 percent of women actually use them.

IUDs could be instrumental in improving one of America's most dismal reproductive stats: 50 percent of pregnancies in the United States—3 million a year—are unplanned. Half are a result of contraceptive failure. So why aren't women using the best and most desirable pregnancy prevention tool on the market?

It's partly an issue of cost. IUD insertion can cost hundreds of dollars. That initial investment can last between five and 10 years, but many women can't front the cash—in the study, 75 percent of women chose the IUD over other forms of birth control when all contraceptive options were offered free of cost. Our health care system sacrifices long-term benefits for short-term economics, too: Instead of footing the bill for an extremely effective form of birth control now, we're paying for millions of unplanned pregnancies down the road.

But even women who can afford the IUD are often deterred or outright denied access. Until recently, the FDA only approved IUDs for use in women with children, citing "risks of permanent infertility"—in rare cases, an IUD can puncture the uterus upon insertion, or increase a woman's risk of complicating an otherwise harmless STI. But there's some evidence that the infertility risk is overstated. One 2007 study found that even among women who engage in "high-risk" sexual behavior and had a history of STDs, the IUDs on the market today "do not increase the rate of pelvic inflammatory disease or infertility among women." In fact, Mirena—a hormonal IUD that hit the market in 2001—could actually help "protect against STDs by causing an overproduction of cervical mucus," a natural barrier to infection.

Today, the FDA still only recommends Mirena for women who have children, and doctors still work to deter childless women from choosing an IUD. When one friend approached her gynecologist about switching to an IUD, the doctor told her that she had a personal policy against prescribing the method to women not in monogamous relationships—even though my friend reported that she understood the risks, has never contracted an STD, and always uses condoms. The implication is that some women are allowed to make their own choices about their reproductive health, and some aren't—and only women who already have kids are allowed to risk never having any more. 

Of course, IUDs aren't for everyone. When the IUD was approved for childless women in 2005, usage rates jumped 160 percent. But the study found that women who choose IUDs still tend to be "older, to have public health insurance, and to have more children," while the pill, the patch, and the ring remain more popular among women who have private health insurance and no kids. That leaves the IUD too expensive for the women who want it most and its use discouraged among the women who can actually afford it—and U.S. unplanned pregnancy rates some of the highest in the developing world.

Photo via (cc) Flickr user starbooze

Get out of your car and ride your bike in the 2 Mile Challenge. CLIF Bar will donate $1 for every trip you log to bike nonprofits, up to $100,000.

Every Wednesday, GOOD champions the cause of the desperately thirsty in Buy You a Drink. This week: Hard (rock) beverages to Van Halen fans suffering through another round of shunning by their temperamental heroes.

Roth swears that the 30 summer dates were not so much cancelled as “postponed” in the interest of avoiding detached, exhausted performances—or as he calls it, “the robot zombie tour.”

¾ oz. Jack Daniel’s Tennessee whiskey
¼ oz. Fernet Branca

Pour both ingredients over ice in a shaker. Shake. Strain into a shot glass. Throw back quickly. Chase with ginger ale, or cheap beer.

1 ½ oz. gin (I used Hendrick’s)
1 oz. overproof dark rum (I used Lemon Hart 151)
¾ oz. lemon juice
¾ oz. orange or tangerine juice
½ - ¾ oz. simple syrup
Splash Grand Marnier (optional)

Shake with cracked ice. Strain into a cocktail glass.

New York is one of two states that require stamp recipients to ink their fingertips to eat. That’s about to change: Governor Andrew Cuomo announced plans last week for New York to eliminate mandatory fingerprinting for food stamps in an effort to reduce the stigma associated with applying for government assistance. While most of New York state did away with mandatory fingerprinting back in 2007, New York City continues to enforce the rule. “We shouldn’t treat the poor or the hungry as criminals,” Cuomo said at a recent news conference. “That’s what we’ve been doing and that’s what’s going to stop.”

Cuomo’s new food stamp policy may seem like a necessary move to correct a longstanding injustice. But it’s sparked opposition from some who believe that mandatory fingerprinting is a necessary measure to protect against food stamp recipients abusing the system. In other words, we must treat people like criminals to ensure they don’t become criminals.

A decade ago, at least eight states had instituted mandatory fingerprinting in their food assistance programs in an effort to prevent food stamp fraud. Today, New York and Arizona are the only states to continue the practice. New York City officials claim that the policy has saved the metropolis more than $35 million in fraudulent food stamp payments over the past 10 years and helped catch 1,900 cases of food stamp fraud in 2011 alone—including incidents of recipients using two names to collect double benefits. Many people, including New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg, argue that without checks-and-balances like mandatory fingerprinting, applicants can get more than their fair share.

But that logic is not only unfair, it’s flawed. There are plenty of other ways to prevent fraud that don’t involve making poor people feel like criminals. New York and other states have instituted computerized application systems to store food stamp applicants’ birth dates, addresses, and Social Security numbers. Food stamps can now be issued via EBT cards—which work similarly to debit cards—so funds can easily be monitored electronically. Digital monitoring deters fraud, no prejudicial policy required.

Besides, cutting back on SNAP fraud isn’t the only consideration affecting the bottom line. In reality, making sure all food stamp-eligible people are able to access benefits actually stimulates the economy. As Gothamist recently reported, a 2010 USDA study found that "$5 in new food stamp benefits can generate $9 in total community spending, and every additional dollar’s worth of food stamp benefits generates 17 to 47 cents of new spending on food."

The data also shows that many people who are eligible to receive food stamps never bother to collect them. About 1.8 million New Yorkers currently receive SNAP benefits, but that’s only about 70 percent of the total number of people that could receive benefits if they chose to apply. Similar gaps pop up in states across the U.S.

The reasons for this deficit are many and complex—a confusing application process, lack of understanding of the qualifying process, pride. But mandatory fingerprinting is a particularly conspicuous and unnecessary barrier blocking food stamp usage. People who are forced to be fingerprinted often must travel to state aid offices, a problem for those who work during the day, or for parents with young children at home. And stigma can be an even bigger disincentive than logistics. According to the New York City Council, about 30,000 people were deterred from applying for food stamps last year by the mandatory fingerprinting policy.

The vast majority of the 46 million Americans on food stamps don't sign up because they want a handout or are looking to cheat the system. They receive benefits because times are hard, groceries are increasingly expensive, and they’re desperately trying to feed their families. We need to fight policies that put up insurmountable food access barriers, not encourage them. Outlawing mandatory fingerprinting is a good first step towards ensuring that all hungry people have a way to feed their families. New York is poised to end the system. Next up: Arizona.

Photo via (cc) Flickr user Wonderlane

If the Lorax were to ever actually award a "Certified Truffula Tree of Approval" to a moving vehicle, it'd be a lot more likely to go to a garden-toting truck that brings farms to schools than to a Mazda SUV.

A literal "food truck," Truck Farm Chicago is a nonprofit organization that uses a 1994 Ford F-250 named Petunia to chauffeur a miniature farm. The project, which revved into gear on Earth Day, is a collaboration between sustainable development nonprofit Seven Generations Ahead and eco-friendly book-printer Green Sugar Press, a recent GOOD Maker finalist whose co-founders Shari Brown and Tim Magner were inspired by King Corn director Ian Cheney’s first truck farm in Brooklyn, NY.

While Truck Farm Chicago is one of about 20 truck farms sprawled across the nation, it's set apart by its focus on educating Chicago youth and families about healthy eating. Visits to the truck typically last an hour and consist of a short tour of the farm, plant identification, taste tests, and sensory exploration. Off-truck activities include planting a seed in a newspaper pot to nourish at home and painting their favorite lessons straight onto Petunia. 

"I was excited about this project as a fun, unique and creative way to bring gardening and nutrition education to children all over the city—especially those who may not otherwise get to see how food grows up close,” Brown says. "Making healthy choices can be challenging, especially when good fresh food and education about why it's important and how to cook it is not always accessible. Truck Farm is trying to do our part by using our exhibit to spark these discussions, give youth the tools to make healthy choices, and inspire them to use their own creativity to encourage healthy changes in their communities.""

There’s an enormous need for nutritional education in Chicago, where childhood obesity exceeds the national average: According to the Consortium to Lower Obesity in Chicago Children, 35 percent of Illinois children between 10 and 17 are obese. In its first year, Truck Farm visited food deserts and underserved communities throughout the city, reaching 2,738 children at 47 schools. This year, with the help of a Kickstarter campaign, they hope to educate more than 3,000 children, strengthen programming opportunities from starting school gardens to follow-up visits, and spread awareness about the importance of good food. 

The community has been instrumental to the organization’s success, Brown says, donating compost, plants, and other supplies. The truck garden was designed and engineered by Chicago Specialty Gardens, which provides Petunia with a raised bed divided into a few sections to ensure the soil stays in place on the road and a drainage system with a permeable layer of landscape fabric. The crew plants seedlings that will sprout quickly, including lettuce, radish, kale, chard, broccoli, kohlrabi, beans, and a variety of herbs. As the weather warms up, cherry tomatoes, basil, rosemary, and eggplants will be added to the mix.

"One of my favorite quotes is, ‘If you don't take care of your body, where will you live?" Brown says. "Every child has the right to know how to care for themselves and to ultimately enjoy a higher quality of life."

Want to learn more about GOOD Maker? Drop us a line at maker[at]goodinc[dot]com, sign up for our email list, or check out the current challenges.

This post is in partnership with CLIF Bar

For city dwellers across America, the car has long-since been the transportation tool for every job. In the U.S., 40 percent of all trips happen within 2 miles—with 90 percent of those made by car. Energy food company CLIF Bar recognized the opportunity to rethink the way it looked at daily transportation. The CLIF Bar 2 Mile Challenge (2MC) was created five years ago, beginning as a fun competition between the company's staffers and their family and friends. Continuing strong, the program is now an avenue by which the Emeryville, California-based company is showing a continued commitment to the future of bikes-as-transportation, calling everyone to join to create more positive impact in communities across the country, one bike trip at a time.

Motivation is the key to leaving your car keys at home—opt instead to go by bicycle. CLIF Bar’s experience running the 2MC finds that biking to work or to the store, joining up with friends for an afternoon ride, or just to take in some fresh air is made easier with a little “skin in the game.” This year, each individual biking effort counts towards real impact. Throughout the rest of 2012, CLIF Bar will give away $100,000 to regional nonprofit organizations that support biking. Sign up for the 2 Mile Challenge (it's free) and every bike trip logged will count as $1 going to helping a monthly featured charity.

Register now and then get on your bike! It’s simple to log your bike trips and help pedal the goodness forward inside 2milechallenge.com or the new iPhone App integration.

May’s featured organization is BikeWalkKC. Learn more about them here, and see how many others have taken the challenge and swapped their car for a bike. Join the ride and help CLIF Bar support those organizations working hard towards a more bike-friendly America!

When I lived in “bike-friendly” Washington, D.C.—the 68-square-mile District is painted with 48 miles of bike lanes—I rode my bike to work almost every day. My commute was often punctuated with contentious interactions with pedestrians and drivers. Once when I was stopped at a light, a man in a gold Cadillac emptied a bottle of water onto my lap, laughed, and sped away. A woman driving a black Range Rover veered into the bike lane, then rolled down her window to tell me to watch where I was going. Every morning, I rode past a white-painted ghost bike chained to the intersection where a young cyclist had been flattened by a garbage truck. The investigation concluded that no one was to blame. Of course, only one person was dead.

I always wondered why it was so difficult for drivers to just pay attention and not be assholes. Then I moved to Los Angeles and got a car. Here, we do not operate our vehicles so much as we hang out in them. Hunkered in my sedan, I’m now comfortable juggling an iced coffee and the radio dial while “courtesy” honking the car in front of me. Only when I jump back on my bicycle do I become a little bit scared about the person that I become when I’m behind the wheel.

The conversation about “sharing the road” revolves around classes of “drivers” and “bikers” and “pedestrians,” as if we are members of competing tribes. (See our related video on how to share the road and not be a douchebag.) But in reality, a cyclist throws her Schwinn in the back seat and becomes a driver; a driver opens her door and becomes a pedestrian. So why does she sometimes open that door straight into the path of an oncoming cyclist?

Even the experts don’t know for sure. According to Dr. Ian Walker, a traffic psychologist at the University of Bath who rides an AVC Caribou Taiga expedition touring bike he calls “The Mighty Akhbar,” the science of bicycle safety is written only in "hints and incomplete stories.” Cyclists are estimated to be 3 to 11 times as likely to die on the road than drivers—a huge statistical gap. Walker is doing his part to figure out why. In 2006, he strapped a camera and sensor to his bicycle and hit the road, testing a variety of controlled riding conditions to see how cars reacted as they passed. He rode with and without a helmet. He hugged tight to the curb and rode out in the middle of the lane. Sometimes, he biked with a feminine blonde wig on his head.

After sharing the road with more than 2,000 vehicles, Walker found [PDF] that cars gave him a wider berth when he rode close to the sidewalk, when he wore no helmet, and when he strapped on that wig. Cars were more likely to whizz by close when he occupied the center of a lane, in a helmet, and presenting as male. Two cars left him no space at all—they just hit him.

Walker’s research raises some interesting theories about why drivers act the way they do toward bikers. Maybe drivers give more leeway to cyclists they perceive as less skilled. Or maybe drivers harbor some resentment for the stereotypical bicyclist—the guy swathed in Lycra, powering down the middle of the road. Perhaps drivers respond positively to novelty—male cyclists outnumber female ones by 2-to-1. Drivers could be chivalrous. Or maybe they’re just horny—last year, a New York City cop was roundly criticized for telling a woman that riding a bicycle in a short skirt distracts male drivers. Hey, at least they’re paying attention.

What does Walker’s data mean for bikers? He has heard from one cyclist who deliberately wobbles on the road to give drivers the perception that he’s erratic, in the hopes they’ll give him a wider birth. Another carted an empty child seat behind his bike, an attempt to encourage empathy. “I like to ride my bicycle, but I cycle to work in regular clothes and don’t follow the Tour de France,” Walker writes on his own personal website. “This is important.”

But attempts to bike different aren’t a sustainable safety solution when many drivers have a problem with all bikes. Resentment toward bikers goes back to the horse and buggy days, when the emergence of the “velocipedler” was met with "open disgust,” Walker wrote in a recent paper. Onlookers jammed sticks in wheels and pelted them with stones. New York and Berlin instituted laws that restricted bicycling. Moscow banned it outright in 1881. Walker says that early animosity toward cyclists was a product of “conservatism coupled with class prejudice,” as biking “was a well-to-do activity, unaffordable to the typical working family.” As bike prices dropped and more and more people hopped on two wheels, popular disgust waned. Then, the car debuted and underwent the same cycle—it was resented, accepted, then popularized.

Now, cycling has come full circle—it’s again seen as a boutique form of transportation for people with the luxury to choose their commuting style not out of necessity but out of environmental, health, or style concerns. And the stakes are higher. In addition to pedestrians’ sticks and stones, cyclists must contend with two tons of metal barreling down the road at 60 mph. (In New York City’s very first automobile accident, in 1896, a "horseless wagon" struck a cyclist.) Today, they also must navigate an infrastructure of roads and sidewalks built to accommodate pedestrians and cars, but not the mid-speed cyclist in between. A particularly troubling phenomenon in traffic psychology is the “looked-but-failed-to-see” collision—drivers are so accustomed to only looking out for other cars on the road that even if they look in a cyclist’s direction, their mind doesn’t register the biker. And this problem only gets worse the more experience a driver has on the road.

This is partly a numbers game—when the number of cyclists on the road doubles, the number of bicycle accidents only increases by a third. Today, only about 2 percent of Americans rely on bikes for transportation. Walker spoke with one professional bus driver who said she could "understand the pedestrians' point of view” on the road because she had personal experience wandering into the street without looking both ways. “I can understand that—I'm always aware of that—because of the amount of times I've done it,” she told him. “I can forgive pedestrians, but cyclists I cannot.”

This is true even though cyclists, unlike cars, are relatively humanized on the road. Their bodies are exposed, their movements necessarily more improvised. Meanwhile, the driver is alienated behind tinted windows, a blasting air conditioner, and stereo sound. When a cyclist and driver meet, Walker says, the “driver largely has the experience of interacting with a person,” while the cyclist is “interacting with a machine.”

When drivers do engage with bikers on a human level, the process can be disorienting. When a cyclist and driver make eye contact, the driver’s response time actually slows under the burden of an “extra, involuntary stage of cognitive processing.” A 1979 study found that drivers do perceive the signals cyclists give on the road—both formal ones (an arm to the left to signal a turn) and informal ones (a dropped foot to signal a stop)—but these signals also slowed drivers' responses. Some drivers keep thinking like cars even after they step out of one. One study discussed the dangerous phenomenon of pedestrians "walking around in the mindset of a motorist”—people who exited their car, “continued to act as if they were protected from other traffic,” and got struck in the road themselves.

Walker’s research does point to one data point that begins to bridge the divide: “When drivers do see cyclists, they do think about it. They make a quick evaluation of that cyclist, and they adjust their behavior,” he says. “It’s just that because most drivers don’t understand cyclists, they’re not always adjusting their behavior correctly.”

I'm still riding my bike, now on the streets of L.A. Every time a driver manages to pay attention, it makes me feel a little bit better about biking on the road. I try to remember that feeling every time I get behind the wheel.

Related video: Don't Be a Douchebag! 45 Seconds to a Calmer Commute

Photo via (cc) Flickr user Chicago Bicycle Program

Get out of your car and ride your bike in the 2 Mile Challenge. CLIF Bar will donate $1 for every trip you log to bike nonprofits, up to $100,000.

Get out of your car and ride your bike in the 2 Mile Challenge. CLIF Bar will donate $1 for every trip you log to bike nonprofits, up to $100,000.

Dying of cancer is often a long and painful process. To be able to face that pain every day is an achievement in and of itself. But to face that pain while also inviting others into your life and your story is eminently admirable. With Written Off, Jeffery gave people a glimpse at what cancer does to its victims, their families, and their loved ones. Sometimes it was funny, and other times it was very sad. But with every entry she wrote during the blog's year of existence, Jeffery gave cancer patients, cancer survivors, and others little parcels of inspiration and hope that even in the worst of times, life can be worth leading.

Perhaps no Written Off entry summarizes Jeffery's ballsy, can't-quit attitude better than her last, penned just a month before she died and two months before she was scheduled to be married. She wrote it after a house shopping trip with Thostrup. In retrospect, it's both beautiful and haunting:

Sometimes it doesn’t feel real; how could all of this have happened to me? How did I come to be in such an unlucky situation? I don’t feel bitterness towards others, for what they have, but I can’t help but look around in restaurants and on the Tube and see healthy people with their whole lives ahead of them. I can honestly say I wouldn’t want anyone else’s life but I do envy their health. 

On our way back from a house viewing the other day I had to tell Tom that something had been nagging at me whilst we noseyed around other people’s homes. I was scared that we would find a new place, move in and then if I died he would be stuck in a three-bedroom house on his own. He reminded me, and I know he’s right, that we can’t live our lives like that. If we’d believed the stats we wouldn’t be having a wedding in two months time; if you let the cancer take over completely then you’re letting it win before you die.

Get out of your car and ride your bike in the 2 Mile Challenge. CLIF Bar will donate $1 for every trip you log to bike nonprofits, up to $100,000.

Still, the juice cleanse lobby asserts enough pseudoscience to inspire some serious hippie appeal. I headed to Jenny Leman, a dietician at Austin health club BodyBusiness, to serve me some scientific real talk. “Your colon has been evolving for thousands of years,” she told me. “It’s completely capable of detoxing itself.” Side effects of extreme regimens like the Master Cleanse—headaches, sweats, and vomiting—are easily mistaken for a productive expulsion of noxious contaminants, but are more likely signs that your body is in distress.

“In general, the medical world frowns on cleanses and views them as a way-too-hippie, naturopathic way of doing something that doesn’t make sense,” Leman says. But if you’re set on joining the liquid lobby, “there are ways to do it where it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

Start with a newer generation of post-Master cleanses, which are intentionally more balanced to provide actual nutrients instead of forcing the body into an unhealthy state of ketosis. Leman’s three basic pillars of a not-the-worst-thing-in-the-world cleanse:

1  Your daily juicing should include all three macronutrients: carbohydrates from fruits and vegetables; protein from nut milks, chia seeds, or ground flax powder; and fats like avocado, olives, and nut butters or oils.

2  Make sure every color is represented in your produce selection. Plants are grouped into families based on their antioxidant and micronutrient content, and nature has gone to the trouble of arranging them by color for us. A balanced cleanse should pick from the whole spectrum.

3  Make a point to include fiber. When you remove the pulp from fruits and veggies, 100 percent of the fiber goes with it. That defeats the entire purpose of a cleanse if you’re looking to actually expel things. To take care of this, I just left one juice a day unfiltered. I learned pretty quickly that unstrained fruit juices are far more palatable than chunky leafy greens or root vegetables. By day three, I got strategic: I’d juice spinach completely, then add blueberries with all their pulp.

Traditional juice cleanses also purge your wallet. Juicing delivery services, which bring you all the liquids you’ll need for a three-to-seven day digestive vacation, cost upwards of $50 a day. State-of-the-art juicers are priced in the hundreds. I decided I could DIY my cleanse for just a $10 daily investment.

First, I hit the produce section and picked up 20 pounds of carrots, celery, strawberries, avocados, mangos, kale, spinach, beets, turnips, blueberries, blackberries, apples, oranges, and cucumbers. It’s tempting to go fruit-heavy beause of sweet deliciousness, but too much of a disparity will get you a serious spike in blood sugar that will only bring memories of pizza floating back. Along with a quart each of coconut and almond milks, I spent about $30 on juicing materials that lasted me almost exactly three days.

Then, I headed to the hardware store and dropped $1.98 on a two-pack of nylon paint strainers. I simply blended my produce in a little water, poured it through the strainer bag, and squeezed the pulp like I was milking a cow. It’s cheap, effective, and easier to clean up than the real deal. The argument against this method is that the water the blender needs to get things moving dilutes and weakens the final product. I remain unconvinced that a few ounces of water can be a bad thing.

Finally, I kept a small chart pinned to the wall to ensure I hit all my colors and macros each day. I worked without a set schedule or menu: I juiced when I got hungry and made up combinations on the fly. This time around, I made it all three days, if begrudgingly. Juice got boring. But I was never hungry and I never felt bad. In fact, I felt good, though probably not any better than I would have if I’d eaten nothing but raw fruits and vegetables for three days. Then again, it’s easier to drink 12 ounces of juice than it is to chomp through three carrots, six radishes, and an apple every meal. I even lost a couple of pounds—then gained them right back the second I ate a real meal.

Ultimately, the only benefit I could measure was exactly what Leman said it would be: “This is more of a mental restart,” she says. Afterward, “you’ll find yourself more capable of recommitting to a better lifestyle.” More capable, yes—but I still chose to break my cleanse at a mall food court.

I doubt I’ll ever bother to do a complete cleanse again, but I can certainly see myself juicing more frequently in my daily life—especially with this gem, which quickly became my breakfast staple.

The Iron Maiden

4-6 ounces coconut milk
1 bunch of kale
1 banana
2 dried dates, seeded

Pour just enough coconut milk into the blender to cover the blade. Tear off the kale leaves and pack them tightly in the blender. Add the banana and dates. Blend until smooth, then strain.

Photo via (cc) Flickr user arndog

At least one business in London is attempting to solve the problem commercially. Diners at the Kylin Buffet, a Chinese restaurant, have been surprised to find that they're charged a $32 "wastage" fee if they take more food from the buffet they can eat. "To avoid food wastage, we recommend you do not unnecessary [sic] overfill your plate," says a sign in the restaurant. "Please take only what you can eat." When customers complain about Kylin's wastage policy, as a woman recently did to the Daily Mail, the owner stands by his rules, saying, "we have to charge for wastage of food. We stand by our policies."

A Japanese buffet in Manhattan also charges customers a surcharge for not finishing what they take. And in Australia, a "guilty free" Japanese restaurant called Wafu charges 30 percent more to customers who don't eat everything on their plates. Wafu's chef, Yukako Ichikawa, says her goal is to make the world a more sustainable place. Besides requiring customers to eat everything they order, Ichikawa will also only let customers do takeout if they bring their own containers for the food.

Of course, it would be nice to temper people's tendency to bite off more than they can chew with rational suggestions that they simply stop wasting so much. But when talking doesn't work, appealing to people's pocketbooks often does. And not only might wastage charges keep people from wasting food; they could potentially lead people to be more thoughtful about how much food they need in the first place, which could have yet another benefit: helping to combat the world's obesity epidemic.

Photo via (cc) Flickr user stevendepolo

One study of 909 working moms in Texas found that day-to-day, they "enjoy parenting less than watching TV, shopping, or preparing food." Other studies have "linked parenthood to lower marital satisfaction on average" and a "higher prevalence of depression." Studies have shown that parents register "decreases in life satisfaction in the months after childbirth." In 2009, the Journal of Happiness Studies published a paper announcing that the effect of children on life satisfaction is actually "positive, large and increasing in the number of children"—before retracting the results due to a coding error. In fact, the research showed, the effect of parenting on satisfaction "is small, often negative, and never statistically significant.” Parental happiness researcher Nattavudh Powdthavee says he launched his own study of the matter "to explore why, in spite of the research, he does want to be a parent." (His research found no happiness benefit for having kids).

Now, a group of psychologists from the University of British Columbia, UC Riverside, and Stanford claim to have proven a psychological benefit of parenting. In a press release, they announce that their research shows that "parents are happier than non-parents." The results are more complicated. The study's title, "In Defense of Parenthood," leads to an unexpectedly grim subtitle: "Children Are Associated With More Joy Than Misery."

Really, the researchers found that "parenthood was associated with greater satisfaction and happiness only among fathers"—mothers aren't happier than childless women. Parents under the age of 26 are actually significantly less happy than their childless peers (satisfaction rates rise for mid-age parents, but by the time parents are in their 60s, they're no longer happier than childless people). Single parents are less happy, too. And on the whole, "married parents did not differ in satisfaction or happiness from married people without children."

The real winner here appears to be married dads, who have plenty to be happy about—the researchers admit that the gender divide "is not unexpected, as the pleasures associated with parenting may be offset by the surge in responsibility and housework that arrives with motherhood." If parenting is associated with more joy than misery, dads appear be capitalizing on the "joy" portion of the experience.

Happiness isn't everything. The researchers did find one consistent psychological benefit for parents across age, gender, and marital status—all parents reported "a stronger sense of meaning in life" than did people without kids. But the researchers admit that the data fails to distinguish "the search for meaning" from "the presence of meaning." And studies like this may actually prompt parents to "overestimate their well-being" due, in part, to widespread "beliefs about the desirability of parenting"—beliefs that have been debunked in those previous studies of parental happiness.  

It's unclear whether having children gives our lives meaning, or whether kids just satisfy a preset societal idea about how we ought to be extracting meaning from our lives. The trouble with scientific studies like this one is that they take the experiences of individuals and flatten them into society-wide lessons—either having kids makes people happy, or it doesn't. In a press release, the researchers say that they hope "people may find solace" in the study's findings.

Which people, though? The truth is that parenting makes some individuals happy and others miserable. When we try to construct meaning for all people, we don't always consider the well-being of the individual person—it should give us pause that women report locating meaning in their lives through something that does not actually make them happy. "What is the meaning of life?" and "what is the meaning of my life?" are two questions that should not be so easily confused.

Photo via the Library of Congress.

When Kevin and I broke up nine years ago, we sold the Eames couch we bought together from a vintage shop in San Francisco. We couldn't agree on who would get custody, so selling it and splitting the $1400 seemed like the best way to keep things fair. My half would go toward the security deposit on a new apartment. I was moving out.

More difficult to divvy up was Chauncy, the 5-year-old bulldog mix Kevin and I had adopted together. But we did our best to split the dog down the middle, too. I found a new place right across the street. It was the best apartment I had seen, and hey, I liked the neighborhood, I told everyone. But really, I liked that Chauncy wouldn’t need to adjust to new sidewalks and parks and neighbors, and he’d be close to Kevin, too. I gave Kevin a spare set of my keys. He would come over every afternoon to walk Chauncy, and take him in when I was out of town.

Kevin and I started dating in college, then built a happy life together in San Francisco. On my 21^st birthday, Kevin arranged to fly in a little puppy from an Alabama farm. We met him at the airport and named him after a member of an R&B group. Then, we moved to New York, and everything unraveled. We fought about spending too much money and not enough time together. Couples therapy failed to save the relationship. We thought we could stay best friends or, at least, close ones. Sharing Chauncy would help maintain the bond.

Most people thought our dog agreement was unusual. My therapist told me I was replicating the joint custody my parents had of me after their divorce. We thought it was weird, too, but Kevin and I were proud of ourselves for making the effort. And at first, it was really nice. I liked being able to make small talk with Kevin, and having my afternoons uninterrupted for writing at home. I also, I admit, liked vaguely keeping tabs on my ex. This mostly involved inferring details from his brief appearances in my life. How had his clothes changed—was he dressed up to go on a date? Did he seem tired from going out? Did he seem busier than me? Was he more successful at dating than I was? Was he lonely, too?

Sometimes, Kevin would text me on a Sunday at noon, asking if I wouldn't mind walking Chauncy that day. I would spend the whole day crying, assuming he was with a new girl. Once, at a party, a strange redheaded girl told me she knew my dog, which was a polite way of saying she had been seeing my ex. Whenever I heard Kevin was dating someone new—and there seemed to be a lot of them, girls whose names I’d never learn—I'd begin to rethink our arrangement. I’d practice the speech in my head. I’d tell him he simply couldn't come over every day anymore.

But while I was sometimes miserable, I knew that Chauncy was thriving. He had two owners who adored him. He never saw the inside of a kennel. Kevin had a car, and would drive him to far-off dog parks or whisk him to the country for the weekend. It seemed important for Chauncy to keep a link to Kevin. The arrangement stayed.

But my own link to Kevin was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. I started avoiding him, both socially and inside my own apartment. I skipped parties. I headed to the gym or out to lunch when he was due to come over.  He had a serious girlfriend now, I heard, an art dealer. Every time I imagined her playing in the park with my dog, I felt like giving Chauncy a bath and washing her influence off.

Eventually, Kevin found out that his apartment—the one we once lived in together—was getting refurbished, and no leases would be renewed. He began scouting dog-friendly apartments across town. He could still have Chauncy for a week here or there, but the days of daily apartment visits were over. While he was feeding Chauncy one afternoon, I asked him how the house hunt was going. He said he found a railroad apartment in Greenpoint.

"Isn't that an awkward layout for a roommate?"

"Oh," he said, "I'm not moving in with a roommate, I'm moving in with Elaine."

I realized then that I wasn’t sharing Chauncy just with Kevin, but with the whole life Kevin was building apart from my own. I had to accept that by committing to joint custody, I would need to get used to another girl cuddling with my dog. It had been years since we broke up—Kevin wasn’t even my most recent boyfriend anymore!—and yet I had never fully accepted it. 

It’s funny—all those years of seeing each other every day didn’t make us better friends. Instead, it kept us in a kind of perpetual state of breaking up. Only when Kevin stopped turning up in my apartment each afternoon was I able to understand that putting someone else’s needs first—the dog’s—required me to more closely monitor my own needs, too. Chauncy still got ridiculously excited every time he reunited with Kevin. I didn’t need to do the same.

Recently, Kevin and I took Chauncy to the vet. There in the waiting room, we exhausted all talk of how the dog had been doing. I realized we had almost nothing more to say to one other. The silence came as a relief. Finally, Chauncy was the last bond between us. We took Chauncy in together, made sure he was doing ok, then went our separate ways.