Monday, October 24, 2005

La viande: Je ne peux pas attendre de la manger!

My flirtation with vegetarianism is no more. I knew it was over when my mom pulled down my lower lid and declared it "white and bloodless." Vegan diets are dismal. Everything is "inspired" by artery cloggers, but rarely achieve the same level of savouriness and emotional comfort. The cold food, the raging guilt, it was impossible to shop without being glared at (for being a moderate-adherer, no less). And frankly, I missed my boobs (and unusually round rump). I could feel the adolescent boy seeping through. So instead of praying for more estrogen, I decided to eat meat (within reason) again. Because damnit! I'm a carnivore! Not an elitist-thinking, fad-seeking, boho radical. I'm just a bespecled Asian trying to stay awake in class. And befriend salt again (if it'll have me back).

Seriously vegans, your food is bland. I don't care how much lemon juice, cayenne peppers, and mango chutney you use, every mouthful is another variation on the entree salad. Not all, mind you. Just limited to homemade meals made by those who work outside of the kitchen for a living. 20-something hipster potlucks typically resemble a lawn-on-lawn buffet. And the nuts. Stop with the nuts! Just because they're packed with protein doesn't mean they belong in a smoothie! (I don't particularly enjoy having to separate brown particles from a faux-dairy cocktail. When you have to remember how many food groups were squeezed into that locally-made, artisanal glass cup: STOP.)

So ... my point is ... I'd like a steaming slab of steak right now ... but I can't because I've never properly prepared meat (alone) and I'm terrified of screwing it up. (It's expensive, that fatty fare.)


I called Techbiana yesterday while she was having sex with her boyfriend. (Yes, the ensuing conversation did not last long, I mean, was not lengthy, I mean, ya know, it was awkwardly abrupt.) I saw her today and she asked me why we haven't slept together yet. Well, technically, she never asked. But more importantly, once was enough: I already got my drunken one-time, rite-of-passage vaccination.


An American Experience biography on Albert Kinsey made me miss the rock hard abs, I mean, cranial capacity (?) of Josh Duhamel. I don't know what's sadder -- reacquainting myself with middle-brow culture or convincing myself any program with Gilbert and Sullivan references is worth forgetting this dapper dandy for.

He, by the way, is engaged to a real cara de culo.
My fears are founded: plastic is power.

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