You probably learned a number of useful things in school: reading, writing, arithmetic. But no matter how fantastic your teacher, it’s doubtful that “How to be happy” was included in the lesson plan.
Luckily, it’s never too late. September marks the inaugural run of The Science of Happiness, a free online class for happiness seekers worldwide.
With the likes of Jennifer Lopez, Samuel L. Jackson, Jay Z, Beyonce, and Bill Clinton touting the benefits of vegan diets in the mass media, meatless eating is making its way into popular culture in a big way. There’s no question that the number of folks on a plant-based diet (or at least veg-curious) is rapidly growing. And with rising numbers of vegan eaters, more cruelty-free options are hitting the market, from grocery store items to restaurants to food festivals.
Food festivals, for instance, used to be the domain of meat eaters and cheese fiends, headlined by chefs famous for their foie gras creations and maple smoked bacon. But lucky for the meatless among us (and the animals of course), there are a whole host of cruelty-free celebrations popping up these days, from New York to San Francisco to Miami. Here are 10 must-attend meatless events across the U.S.
Miami is a photogenic lass. From ocean to sky to swaying palms, it’s hard to take a bad picture of our tropical paradise. And the graffitied, weather-worn charm of Key Biscayne’s Marine Stadium, in particular, is an Instagrammer’s wet dream.
This weekend, 30 lucky photo fiends have been granted all-access passes to Miami’s historic landmark to shoot, filter and share as they see fit. They’ll get to meet all-star stadium advocate Gloria Estefan, watch nine renowned street artists create mural masterpieces and meet the stadium’s architect, Hilario Candela. And while you can’t join them in person, you can follow the fun on Instagram.
Once upon a time, before Chili’s and Starbucks, Coconut Grove was an artist’s parish, where the free-spirited danced, painted, and played their days away. Now the population is much more likely to make harried commutes to Brickell in their BMWs, but we digress. Twice a year, the shaded enclave reclaims its artistic roots when musicians take to the streets to celebrate music, peace, and all things summer at Fête de la Musique.
Wolfman Jack, or Wolfey as he was better known, was a shaggy black mutt and former pound puppy who stole the hearts of his family with his gentle nature, zest for life and popcorn-catching prowess.
From the moment his mom and two-year-old human sister picked him up from the pound, Wolfey’s joy was palpable. A jumper, a player, a lifelong chaser of squirrels, he loved all people, and children in particular.
Wolfey was an avid barker, a tennis ball aficionado and at heart, a country dog. He loved sniffing at streams, running through gardens and pawing through leaves in the woods of New Hampshire. Later in life, he could be spotted loping through the hills of Napa Valley.
During difficult times, Wolfey was a tireless shoulder to cry on and a constant comfort to his little sister when she was sad. His fur was better than a box of tissues – and he shed his thick black hair in massive quantities. His family’s favorite rhyme was “Wolfey hair is everywhere!” Even on the ceiling.
Stubborn and opinionated, Wolfey had a mind of his own. Famously, he’d hop on the bed the minute his human family left the house, despite his mom’s protestations. Car rides made him crazy — he’d bark, drool and howl, but he was an adventurer and loved trips of any kind.
Wolfey gave his family plenty of scares, from employing escape artist antics to getting hit by a car. But even the accident didn’t cramp his style – he was always eager to meet another day.
One of Wolfey’s brightest moments was his 15th birthday party — a festive tribute to his life that had him seated at a table as the guest of honor. He wore a party hat, ate a birthday cake and ice cream (his favorite) and eagerly tore open presents with his paws. He was beside himself with joy.
In his later years, Wolfey’s teeth chattered and his fur wore thin, but his spirit never did. He was as full of enthusiasm his last day on earth as he was when he rode home with his family from the shelter — an example of a life well lived. And while he never achieved his lifelong dream of catching a squirrel, he came very, very close.
Wolfey passed on painlessly at the age of 17 in the company of his Auntie Aleta. He lived a long life and taught us many lessons. May he run like a gust of wind from now until forever.
“Everything I know, I learned from dogs.” – Nora Roberts
Mystic was a lover of laser pointers, tuna and stuffed animals twice his size. A cat with a hearty appetite for food, life and love, he spent 16 years bringing joy and affection into the lives of everyone who knew him.
A mama’s boy from day one, Mystic started life as a flea market adoptee, infested with fleas, ringworm and an indomitable will. Six months-worth of daily baths and lots of loving care later, he was a picture of Persian good looks — a fluffy black coat, bright green eyes and tufts of white fur on his face, chest and paws.
Mystic loved catnip, TV time with his family, watching boats from the balcony and occasionally, humping his stuffed animal friends.
Always a good sport, Mystic disliked grooming, car rides and moving — but endured them like a champ (other than an occasional nip at his hairstylist). He bore his cancer diagnosis the same way. His tireless spirit and zest for life, even after his amputation, inspired many. Life on three legs didn’t faze Mystic. Warrior kitty, his mama called him.
For 16 years, he comforted his family when they were sad, served as occasionally-bullying-but-mostly-loving brother to his Persian sister Creme and was his mama’s constant companion. He gave great kisses, even better snuggles and loved curling his leg around his mommy’s arm. He begged at the dinner table and drank water out of the bidet. He was a purring machine.
Mystic spent his last weeks being showered with love and affection, devouring delicious food and letting his mama know how much he adored her. On April 29, 2014, he peacefully passed on in her arms.
While his furry body is no more, his spirit lives on with surviving family members: mother Michelle, father Dominic, human sister Danielle and feline siblings Creme de la Creme, Boozie, Cosmo and Luna. He will be forever loved and forever missed.
“I believe cats to be spirits come to earth. A cat, I am sure, could walk on a cloud without coming through.” – Jules Verne
Unfortunately for everyone ever, crises are unpredictable bastards. Despite our oh-so-advanced society, even the best of us can’t prognosticate tomorrow’s screw-up, act of God or criminal disaster. Such is the nature of a crisis. Those suckers are crafty.
There are, however, wise ways of dealing with these nasty events once they happen. Ignoring them is not one of those ways. Far too many DMOs and CVBs choose to look the other way when s*** goes down in their tourism destination.
The cranes of Port Miami are hard to miss. They stand as a towering beacon to the city’s cargo trade, greeting MacArthur Causeway drivers like steel monsters straight out of Star Wars.
They’re pretty much metal eyesores, but local artist Peter Hammar wants to transform the lofty mechanical birds into an art project. He has proposed to paint the cranes pink and light ’em up so they look like Florida’s favorite bird — the flamingo.
Today’s average American hamburger comes from a cow – but it may not be long before it comes straight from a lab in Silicon Valley.
A growing number of companies are using high tech to create meat and animal product replacements that look like the real thing – but are made with anything but.
And their target market isn’t vegans — it’s true blue carnivores.
From startups like Hampton Creek Foods and Beyond Meat (both backed by Bill Gates) to old-timers like Gardein Protein, the landscape of meat-free products is rapidly expanding. According to a 2013 study by the research firm Mintel, consumers are increasingly interested in beef, poultry and even fish alternatives.
Stuff. So much of our lives are spent wanting it, buying it, trying to keep it. We work 60-hour workweeks so we can fill our drawers and purses and closets and storage units and attics with stuff. We take pictures of our stuff to post on Instagram, spend weekends picking out more stuff to buy, talk about our stuff at cocktail parties.
Sure, we need some stuff. We need to eat stuff, use stuff, and wear stuff (in polite society, anyway). But how much stuff do we really need? And how much of our stuff actually brings value to our lives? That’s the question Ohioans Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus began asking themselves when, in their late 20s, they realized they were outwardly successful but inwardly miserable.