I Don't Give a Fuck if You Follow Me on Instagram

I Don't Give a Fuck if You Follow Me on Instagram
by Joni Marie Newman

I'm a ten-time published cook book author.

I've been a food blogger since 2006. Back when blogging was more of an online diary than a business. I hesitantly posted my first sponsored post just this past summer, for a hundred bucks and some condiments. I don't have any pop-up ads trying to get you to sign up for my email list. I don't understand SEO. I don't know how many subscribers I have. I don't know the difference between page views and unique visitors.

And I don't care.

I don't make any money from my blog. In fact, it costs me several hundred dollars each year just to keep it live. I'm not even counting the hours spent on developing recipes, editing the recipes, and taking some kind of photo for the post, never mind the money spent on ingredients. Any pennies I collect from affiliate links don't even cover the cost of my domain fees.

I will continue to pay to play.

I have mad respect for those of you out there that can make a living as a blogger or social media influencer. Good for you. You are changing the world. Seriously! The next generation will be grateful for the work you put in to pave the way for an entire new industry.

I fucking hate selling myself.

I'm also a 42 year old woman with a mortgage, and a husband, and a dog to feed. I really need to know where my next paycheck is going to come from. Let alone try to set up some sort of retirement for myself. So, I have a job. I work in an office 40 hours each week. (And part time, on a farm, on the weekends, mostly because I just love going to the farm and getting dirty.) And, if you don't see me at every vegan event, it might be because, I dunno, I need a little time to myself. To do laundry, or, honestly, to sleep.

I have 6114 followers on Instagram.

I had to work really hard to get to 6000. I spent lots of time following other accounts, commenting, liking, and trying to figure out just the right combination of hashtags to use. I tried using different types of backgrounds. Overhead shots. Extreme close-ups. Off the cuff candids. Even the occasional duck-lip selfie. But for the last year I have hovered around 6100. Completely stuck right at that number for a whole year.

I am not a professional photographer.

Nowadays, if you are a great cook who creates great recipes, you'd better be a great food stylist and photographer, too. Or, at least, have enough money in your bank account to pay one...Because there are some really great photographers out there, taking really amazing photos of food. There's a reason someone else takes the photos for my books. And, although, I fancy myself a pretty good amateur phone photog, there is no keeping up with the pros.

I am a goddamn cook.

I know how to make tasty fucking vegan food that everyone will love. Even my Dad. And my dad can be an asshole when it comes to these types of things. So just leave me to the food. Y'all can take all the pretty pictures you want to. Because, here's the thing, I don't do it for the clicks. I do it for the animals.

I go to my job so when I get home I can get to work.

Please understand, the whole vegan recipe thing? It is my passion. It is my work. I do what I do to prove you don't have to kill, torture, or exploit another living creature just for a tasty supper. I've done pop-ups that end up costing me money, even though I completely sold out of food because I don't charge enough. Why? Because I want tasty vegan food in people's mouths. Not just the elite folks who can afford a $10 vegan taco, but everyone.

My shit is cheap.

It would be free if I could afford to give it away. And that's why I don't ask you to join my Patreon, or have a donate button on my website. If ever I do ask you for money, you can almost guarantee it's for some charitable cause. Don't get me wrong, I have ZERO animosity for those of you out there with rock hard abs and two hundred thousand followers, or your perfectly posed acai bowls, or your funny memes, or your make-up tutorials (Trust me, I follow you, too!) As long as you are promoting veganism, I don't really care how you get yours. As the kids say, "You do you."

I don't give a fuck if you follow me on Instagram.

Just know this: I am going to keep on creating recipes anyway. And I will keep posting them on my blog. And I will keep doing pop-ups that cost me money. And I will keep on teaching vegan cooking classes for free. And I will keep on posting crappy pics of the unbelievably fucking delicious vegan food.

Go vegan.

My Love Affair with Hemet

My Love Affair with Hemet
by Joni Marie Newman

About every six weeks I make a Sunday pilgrimage to Hemet. It's a pretty nondescript place out in the flat, dry desert valley surrounded by the Santa Rosa Hills and San Jacinto Mountains in Riverside County, California.

It's a town dotted with mobile estates, chain restaurants, a small municipal airport, and, of course, a Walmart. Incorporated in 1910, as an agricultural community, the City of Hemet saw a huge housing boom (mostly mobile homes and senior living) in the 1960s and the area gained the reputation: Retirement Town for the Working Class.

Overall, Hemet is a fairly average Anytown, USA. The population currently sits just over 80,000 and fairly diverse in race and age. In recent years, many families have moved to the area for its more affordable housing. Folks willing to make that hellish commute from surrounding counties in order to provide brand new little boxes made out of ticky-tacky and a nice life for their families. And with a new Target over in West Hemet, you can keep your house and wardrobe up to date without spending too much money.

My reason for visiting is Mini Pauline. My grandmother on my father's side. Grandma Polly (she hates the name Mini.) moved to Mountain Shadows 55+ RV Resort with my grandpa, Walter, around 30 years ago. They were the working class retired folks Hemet was known for. Grandma Polly still lives in Mountain Shadows, alone, in her tidy and comfortable single wide.

For many years we would visit for fun. Family parties on her aluminum covered patio. There's a clubhouse with a pool. My dad and I loved to relax in the giant hot tub when we'd visit together.  I have wonderful memories of family gatherings at grandma's house. But, for all the years we've visited, I don't have any noteworthy memories of Hemet.  Until today.

Today, as I make my way down the 91 freeway, and exit on Van Buren (my shortcut that is not really any shorter, but back roads beat the highway any day) I notice it looks and feels different.

I wind my way through Riverside County and marvel at the lush orange groves, tip my invisible hat at my Grandpa Walt's grave as I pass the Veteran's Memorial Cemetery, and pop on the 215 for a few exits and exit onto the Ramona Expressway. (Another shortcut of mine that actually takes about 15 minutes longer than if I would have stayed on the freeway a few more exits. Back roads.) I drive past Lake Perris and remember when I used to camp there with my mom and sister when we were wee ones. The hills are alive. With historic amounts of rainfall in the past few months, the hillsides are green and covered in wildflowers. Its beautiful. And while I've never really minded the drive to Hemet, beautiful was not a word I would have ever used to describe it.

It's a gorgeous day. The air is warm. The sky is blue. There's a slight breeze. Then I smell it. The stench of death smacks me in the face as I drive passed the many dairy and chicken farms along the back roads. Not a chicken in sight. The huge commercial buildings used to hide the crowded and cruel conditions of these beautiful birds are tucked far back from the road. If it wasn't for a hand painted sign that reads "Farm Fresh Eggs" out in front (and the smell) one would assume the large outbuildings housed farm equipment or hay. The dairy cows seem to fare a tad better than their winged friends, but not much. I know what happens to them in those cold commercial buildings I see in the distance. Today, like all the other trips, I tell them I am sorry as I pass and continue along the road.

I pass Reflection Lake. A trailer park built around a man-made pond. Most days, when I pass it, I feel a strange sense of sadness emanating from the single fountain in the center of the lake. But today, it’s casting a rainbow in its mist. I see a family. Mom is sitting on a bench, reflecting, I assume, as the kids are chasing each other like siblings do. It is really beautiful.

As I approach Hemet proper I notice a rock perched on top of a hillside covered in wild grasses and mustard flowers. A bright yellow happy face painted on its side. I giggle, “Welcome to Hemet. Where Mother Nature meets bored teenagers with nothing better to do.” I notice a smaller rock with a peace sign spray painted on it. There could be worse messages painted on rocks, I suppose.

I pull into Mountain Shadows and Grandma is waiting for me. Baby, the robot cat we brought to keep her company, was sweetly purring on her blanket on the couch. I give grams her morning medications and make her breakfast. She and I chat for a while. I make a grocery list and leave her to go shopping. She used to go with me to the store. Now she prefers to stay in and take a nap. I head out to WinCo (without Grandma with me, I don't have to go to Walmart anymore! Besides, Polly really likes that Harry's Baked Potato Soup I can only get from WinCo.) with the rest of the Hemet population.

I take the scenic route. Who knows how long Grandma is going to nap, and I want to drive around to see if Hemet proper is shining in a brilliant new light, too. And it is! I see people out moving their lawns. Kids riding bikes and skateboards. I can see and smell backyard barbecues. It is nice. Just really nice.

I check out at the grocery store and head back to Grandma’s. She greets me on the porch where she and Baby are getting some fresh air. We sit and chat awhile. She can still remember the names of all of her 13 brothers and sisters (and the one that was her niece but they passed her off as a sister...different times) but can’t quite wrap her head around how a toy robot cat can also be alive.

It starts getting dark, so we head inside. I make us dinner and we watch The Food Network for awhile. Its getting late so I say my goodbyes and promise to come up Saturday afternoon next time so I can spend the night. And I intend to.

I’m not sure if it’s me getting older, or if it’s the state of the world right now, but I am finding myself wanting to live more simply. Wanting for nostalgia. For movie night at home. For casual family get togethers where we laugh. A lot. I’m finding myself falling in love with Hemet. How close am I to working class retired?