It’s Friday and this is not a real post.

Dearly beloveds, I’m sorry I’ve been such a flake. Work has been busy (it hasn’t really, but doesn’t it sound better if I say that?) and Mercury’s in a retrograde. Here’s a look at what I’ve been checking out lately:

• The Humane League of Baltimore/Open the Cages Alliance participated in last weekend’s Worldwide Vegan Bake Sale! I drove my sweet ass down to the Station North Flea Market and bought chocolate-dipped pretzel sticks, chocolate-chip cookies, cherry-cocoa-coconut cookies, and two muffins: strawberry (for Red, who’s never met a strawberry-flavored thing he didn’t like) and blueberry. Thanks, ladies!
• Michael Vick’s back in Baltimore. (You mean he missed the warm welcome he received at the Ed Block Awards?) With the HSUS in tow, he discussed dogfighting with a bunch of juvenile offenders. Press weren’t allowed in on the talk, which bothers me and ramps up my skepticism. He also copped to attending a dogfight in my fair, broken city, which is sad but unsurprising. As a friend who’s active with B-More Dog pointed out in the comments, it’ll be interesting to see if any indictments come from that revelation. I’d love to see some local heads roll.
• Sweet, ferocious Tasha of Voracious Vegan has been going hungry this week as part of her Souljourn to illuminate the causes and possible solutions (hint: more meat ain’t it) of the world hunger epidemic that victimizes 1.2 billion people. (Her entries are crossposted at Conducive Chronicle.) I can’t tell you what it’s like to be chronically hungry, but I can tell you that Tasha’s writing has made me think differently about the way I encounter my own incidental, and blessedly temporary, hunger.

Click, read, and pass it on. And be grateful this retrograde ends next week!

On not getting tear-gassed at the Ed Block Courage Awards.

I had a busy day yesterday. I got myself decent-looking, put in my hours at work, dashed home, laced up my sexiest black combat boots, snarfed some food, kissed Red and Lucy, grabbed my bag, and drove out to Martin’s West to protest the Ed Block Foundation’s decision to give Michael Vick a Courage Award.

It was super fun!

Because I spent a few weeks wishy-washily engaging in the type of self-sabotage that even we activists can fall prey to, it took me a while to actually commit to going. It was gonna be cold. It was on a Tuesday. I couldn’t get there until 6 anyway, and it started at 4. I didn’t have anyone to go with. Vick was going to get the stupid award anyway. I didn’t want to get into fights with anyone. Red would be worried crazy. All of those things happened, except the fights, and it was 100% worth it. You can check out the Sun’s coverage here and here. Jill, my favorite pet blogger, was there taking notes and making friends with a beautiful pit bull puppy named Dawny Girl. Later, she actually found herself sharing an elevator with Vick! Ack! What would you do?

Dawny Girl was nervous in such a big crowd, but she soon warmed up and loved being loved on.

I chatted with people I knew from B-More Dog. Awesome ladies from the Humane League of Baltimore passed out leaflets and vegan cookies, which were delicious. Later, they handed out battery-operated candles for a mini-vigil. We got on really well and I look forward to hanging with them at future events. I’ve never been a leafletter, but who knows, maybe I’ll give it a try one of these days!

I didn’t have a sign, but lots of other people didn’t have them either. The people who did more than made up for us with beauties like these:

Pittie history lesson: Sergeant Stubby!

We got many supportive honks and cheers from passing motorists, and only a few hollers of “I love Mike Vick!” I made friends with a chef whose wife stayed home because she knew she wouldn't have been able to control her temper. During the protest, she sent him a video of their two pit bulls, Pork Chop and Mozzarella, shredding a Vick chew toy. A Philly delegation showed up, which was wonderful. These two badasses came all the way down from New York:

Their signs read, "Whose Dog Wants to Go #1 on #7?" and "Dog Fighting: How Men with Small Dicks Feel Macho."

They planned to catch a few hours’ sleep on a friend’s couch before heading home. One got into a friendly dispute about baseball with one of the cops working the event. Yankees fans—nothing for ‘em. Her friend, a Mets fan, seemed to know this well.

Programming note: The police ruled. I swear, these were some of the nicest cops I’ve ever met. They told me where to park and how to get back to the freeway. They accepted animal-abuse ribbons, even though they couldn’t wear them on duty. They joked with us and took care of a guy who got verbally abusive. Baltimore County, whatever you’re paying your officers, they deserve more.

Did we plant any seeds of compassion or change anyone’s mind? I have no idea. I do know that perhaps a hundred people came together with the goal of bearing witness to so many stolen lives and reminding others that even though our culture may reward cruelty, it doesn’t have to be that way. In that, I think we were successful.

Ladies, stop using football as an excuse to collaborate in your own oppression.

So, as happens on many Sundays, there was a football game yesterday. Actually, there were probably several, but I refer specifically to the Ravens-Patriots game. As you may have noticed, you couldn’t pay me enough to care about football. I checked the score only because I work with rabid Ravens fans and needed to know whether they’d be safe to approach this morning. The Ravens won; had they not, I could have reasonably looked forward to a quiet day at work.

Now, we’re all aware that athletic prowess is “masculine” and “macho”; to perform poorly on the field deems a player weak. It feminizes him. “Bitch,” “pussy,” “girl”—these are not terms unfamiliar to members of a losing team. Kelly @ Easy Vegan has explored this far more deeply and eloquently than I can, so I encourage you to visit her blog and learn more about the intersection of oppressions—specifically, the link between misogyny and speciesism.

Obviously, it’s bad enough when men engage in this misogynistic trash-talking. It’s pointless, it’s demeaning to men and women, and it makes you look like an unreconstructed fool who has no interest in getting laid. (“Oooh, baby, your blatant disgust for women gets me soooooo hot.”) (Obvs, I’m privileging the heterosexist paradigm here; I have no doubt that asshole football fans count plenty of gay men among their ranks.)

But what really chapped my ass yesterday were the following Facebook status updates, courtesy of a female friend:

“Can anyone explain to me why no one has told Tom Brady that his tampon has failed him and everyone can see his period stain on his pants?”

“TOM BRADY IS GONNA WEEP LIKE A BITCH TONIGHT! HOLD YOUR VAGINA AND CRY ME A RIVER, BABY!!”

And with that, my jaw hit the keyboard and I had to wander to the freezer for some ice to numb the swelling. Disregarding the fact that the Patriots’ loss couldn’t have been entirely Tom Brady’s fault (since when does a game’s success or failure rest solely on the quarterback, BTW?), her responses gutted me with the force of their self-hatred. Unconscious self-hatred, I’m sure, but there it is.

Can she not see that referring to femininity as less-than, as a curse, harms her far more than it does anyone who could possibly give a shit about football or Tom Brady? Wouldn’t it piss her off if someone disregarded her opinions because she’s “just a girl,” or told her that she must be in a bad mood because she’s “on the rag”? Wouldn’t she call that person out for his (or, let’s be honest, her) unthinking misogyny? How can she celebrate everything that makes her the wondrous being that she is, while at the same time using those very attributes to disparage another? How can she, an educated, intelligent woman, merrily engage in the very behaviors that reinforce her status as a second-class citizen?

I don’t have any answers. (For what it’s worth, said friend is omni and told me off for linking to Ari Solomon’s HuffPo piece on “vegangelicals.”) It’s Monday morning, and I have a fuzzy head and heavy heart.

Ladies, woman up and cut that shit out. It’s not cool, it’s not funny, and it sure as hell isn’t empowering.

Fuck yeah, I do. Ripped from Pure Arts Hawaii.

Ed Block Foundation issues statement, says nothing.

I know we’ve all been busy with the holidays and all, but sadly, animal cruelty and the support of same by the status quo never take a holiday. Recently I told you about Michael Vick’s controversial selection for the Ed Block Courage Award; then, I shared the letter I wrote to the Ed Block Courage Award Foundation expressing my consternation and the hope that they would question the decision of Vick’s team to reward his behavior. I know I’m not the only one who’s been waiting to see what the Foundation’s response would be.

I wanted to be happy when they finally issued a statement. Then, I read it. It’s short, so I’ll reproduce it for you here:

Since its inception in 1978, the Ed Block Courage Award has been presented to NFL players that were selected solely by their teammates. The Ed Block Courage Award Foundation cherishes its relationships with the NFL and each NFL Team. This year the Philadelphia Eagles selected Michael Vick as their 2009 Recipient. Our Foundation has a great deal of respect for the Philadelphia Eagles organization, Head Coach Andy Reid and the Eagles Players. Michael Vick is just one of 32 NFL players that will receive an Ed Block Courage Award for 2009. The focus of the Foundation is and always has been to raise awareness and prevention of child abuse and we are proud to add 32 new Ambassadors of Courage along side of us in our journey to break the cycle of child abuse and reach our goal of a Courage House in every NFL City.

FOR REAL. That’s the best you can do, Ed Block Courage Award Foundation? Did you let an intern write that? Was your PR person on vacation? After all the calls and letters and emails I know you’ve received, this half-assed “But we’re doing it for the chiiiiiiilllldren” is all you can muster?

Whatever I was expecting—and I try not to expect too much in situations like these—clearly I set the bar too high. Thanks for encouraging Baltimore’s downward spiral, Ed Block Courage Award Foundation.

Putting my English degree to good use.

Since the Ed Block Courage Award Foundation is holding a press conference today here in Baltimore to announce the recipients of this year's Courage Award, I thought I'd post the letter I sent to their CEO and manager.

Dear _______:

As an animal-rights activist and caretaker of a rescued pit bull, I’m writing to express my dismay at the decision of the Philadelphia Eagles to honor Michael Vick with the Ed Block Courage Award. While I understand that the Ed Block Courage Award Foundation has nothing to do with the selection of recipients, I urge you to question Mr. Vick’s merit for this honor.

I don’t need to remind you of Mr. Vick’s history of dogfighting and subsequent incarceration. I acknowledge that he has served his time and complied with the terms of his parole, yet I have seen no indication that he regrets his past cruelty and truly wishes to make a difference. During his appearances with the Humane Society of the United States, he has expressed remorse, but for getting caught, not for mistreating and murdering the dogs in his care. His hubris in suggesting that he has “overcome a lot, more than probably one single individual can handle or bear,” and that “nobody had to endure what [he has] been through” bespeaks someone who has not yet taken responsibility for his actions, let alone shown the courage befitting a Courage Award recipient. If, as your website states, a deserving player “symbolizes professionalism, great strength and dedication” and “is also a community role model,” then Mr. Vick is a staggeringly poor choice. How can he be “an Ambassador of Courage for victims of abuse, violence and neglect,” when he committed these same crimes against similarly vulnerable beings, the only difference being that they weren’t human? His selection cheapens the Ed Block Courage Award and makes a mockery of the virtues extolled by your organization.

I applaud the work of the Ed Block Courage Award Foundation and will be following the award process with interest. As Ed Block himself said, “Compassion is the noble way of life, a great guide for the truly noble of heart.” I encourage you to continue your compassionate work on behalf of victims of child abuse, but also to extend that compassion to other abused beings and to realize that we are all interconnected.

Sincerely,
Vegan Burnout

Make no mistake, the Block Foundation has already gotten an earful and is trying to distance itself from the clusterfuck. At a meeting called to discuss the outcry that the Eagles’ selection of Vick generated, a board member admitted to being “surprised” and “taken aback,” adding that “[w]e are innocent in all of this.” I know that, but I expect the Block Foundation to step up and do something about it. They may have never had reason to reconsider a team’s chosen recipient before, but there’s a first time for everything. They hold the purse strings, so if they decide that Vick isn’t deserving of their award, they don’t have to give it to him. As Red would say (oh! He's blogging again!), it’s a basic application of the Golden Rule: Those who have the gold make the rules.

Michael Vick wins award; world yawns.

You know how I hate wasting ink (well, pixels) on Michael Vick, so let’s recap: he’s been convicted for heinous violence against the dogs in his “care,” served two years, been allowed to play pro football again, sucked up to the HSUS, wished he could have dogs again, repeated that he’s sorry he got caught, and now been chosen by his teammates to receive the Ed Block Courage Award. The mind, it boggles.

Because I’m totally unwilling, out of sheer disdain for Vick, to spend more than 20 minutes on this post, the award is named for a former Colts (that’s Baltimore, not Indianapolis) trainer who worked to prevent child abuse. It also professes a “commitment to celebrating players of inspiration in the NFL.” I can’t but think he’d be less than pleased.

Guilty by Ian Kim.

Lost my tail again.

A wedding reception recap is coming, I promise. It really and truly is. But first, I must share this valuable lesson:

Never take a yoga class on game day.

I cannot stress this enough.

Let me back up. The reception on Saturday was wonderful, as you will learn when I can think clearly enough to write about it. Wonderful and exhausting. Afterwards, I dropped my friend Jess off at the airport, went home, and (I think) went more or less right to sleep. We may have made popcorn and watched an episode of Mad Men first. I have no idea.

By the way, I missed two days of yoga. To be fair, they were the days I sort of expected to not find time to practice, due to reception insanity. Friday, Jess and I split a bottle of wine after setting up a million tables and chairs, and I wisely decided against drunk yoga. Saturday—well, I just told you about Saturday.

On Sunday, Red and I woke up very late and slightly out of sorts from all the organizing and cleaning and family-wrangling and partying. We’d probably eaten too many vegan desserts, as well. I decided that a yoga class was the perfect thing to soothe my tired muscles and get my head back to normal. There was a community class (read: cheap) late that afternoon, and I looked forward to it all day. There was also a football game, but whatever. Traffic was fine, and I was feeling confident and peaceful.

Until the street was closed.

To be clear, I’m pretty sure that street is the only way to get to the neighborhood where the yoga studio is located. And it was closed. Because of football. Oh, I was livid. In my frustration, I misjudged which street to take next, and ended up back on the freeway. Cursing a blue streak (how yogic of me), I gauged that I had enough time to get off the freeway and try again. I did, and: FAIL. For all my efforts, there was no way into that corner of the city. It was completely walled in by asshole drivers, rabid football fans, and unsympathetic traffic cops.

I was so looking forward to class, too. I drove home, feeling like Eeyore. I told Red my tale of woe, then sulked a little. Had you been there, we probably would have had a conversation like this:

Me: I hate the fucking Ravens.
You: I can tell.
Me: I hope they lose.
You: Actually, they won.
Me: Go screw.

I tried to salvage my practice by doing a short online Yoga Journal core sequence, which fell sort of flat because I only had one block and needed two to do the arm balances. My abs were sore the next day, though, so it worked on that level.

Moral of the story: my city goes insane for football, and woe betide her who tries to pursue her own agenda on game day. Oh well, as least the Ravens didn’t sign Michael Vick.