T-minus 8 days….

I’m getting excited! And not for our wedding reception either, because all this planning and cleaning is making me wish we didn’t like our families and friends enough to throw them a huge party after we already did the hard work of getting hitched. No, I’m getting jazzed for PCRM’s 21-day vegan kickstart! YAY vegan immersion! It’s just like learning another language, only tastier and without goofy accent marks.

“It’s all well and good for you to be excited,” you might be thinking, “but what about the poor husband that you’ve coerced into this, you vegan minx?” Well, fear not. I coerced him about as much as I’m coercing you right now. Red has made noises off and on about going vegetarian, or more vegetarian, etc. He gave it a shot back in January, but faceplanted pretty quickly—I think because he didn’t really have a game plan in place, he reverted back to ordering lunch at work and his good intentions went downhill from there. He’s pretty much vegetarian at home. He keeps cheese in the fridge, but happily eats whatever I cook. (Aside: last night was yellow squash-corn fritters, adapted from 30-Minute Vegan. Awesome with Tofutti sour cream.)

As you can see, he’s been taking tentative steps towards this for a while. When PCRM sent me an email about the 21-day challenge, I forwarded it to my family and double-dared them to try it. (‘Cuz everyone knows you can’t turn down a double-dare.) Well, Red mentioned it to his coworkers. When one scoffed, “Yeah, I bet you couldn’t do that,” it was ON LIKE DONKEY KONG. His coworkers are also way harsher than I am: I was willing to give him a dispensation during our reception, since it’s been planned for months, but the Grand High Council of Cubicle Inquisitors has declared that his mouth will be a no-fly zone that day. Damn, coworkers, that’s cold even for me. Upside: we’re no longer having cheese trays at the reception.

Red has asked me to do it with him, so I can have access to the message boards and recipes as well. We’re active on the PCRM’s forum already, meeting new people and shoring up support for when the challenge begins on September 8th. I’m holding myself out as reassuring vegan earth-mother, brimming with encouragement for the newbies taking the plunge. (Ego much?) I shared this post from Vegan Freak after someone bemoaned the difficulty of giving up cheese, and she said it helped her avoid the temptation to indulge in a cheese-fest. So maybe this earth-mothering thing will help a few people after all.

Red’s stubborn streak will serve him well during his three-week vegan odyssey. Not only is he determined to succeed, he’s also determined to exact tribute from his doubting colleagues. (Last I checked, his prize for completing the challenge is a lunch of his choosing. Whether this lunch will be vegan remains to be seen, but I’m hopeful.) He’s also said that he won’t be giving up cheese once the challenge is over, because it would invalidate his Italian card. We’ll see how my attempts at cultivating patience work out, because living with an omni grumpy because he can’t have cheese or milk chocolate and is sick of reading labels might strain my nerves. I’m already reminding myself that it will be the cheese withdrawal talking. Rest assured, there will be plenty of updates as we navigate this new cheese-less territory!

The famed casu marzu, maggot cheese of Sardinia. Still want cheese?

If heaven exists, it will have avocados.

I’m suffering from severe end-of-week burnout (shocker!), and so I have no thoughtful ramblings to contribute today. Really looking forward to trying some new recipes this weekend. Dinner last night was pedestrian in the extreme, random leftover vegetables (diced onion, yellow squash, a handful of kale) sautéed with half a jar of pasta sauce and plopped onto a pile of whole-wheat rotini. However, another box of rotini found its ultimate calling in my mom’s avocado-basil pasta salad (earmarked for brunch tomorrow, so I can’t eat it all tonight). There is a real recipe, but I sort of just wing it because all that really matters is how you want it to taste. Here it is, minus the bacon and grated cheese of the original:

16 oz. rotini pasta, or whatever shape you like (the original recipe was for 8 oz., but come on, that’s just not enough)
4 ripe avocados, diced (or, if you’re me, just smush them up in a bowl)
3-4 T. lemon juice
2 T. olive oil
6-8 cloves of garlic, diced/smashed/whatever
A whole bunch of fresh basil, chiffonaded all fancy-like. Like half a cup or more if you can swing it. (I never have that much, and it comes out fine.)
Salt and pepper

Are you ready for this? Really ready? Are you sure? Because this, my friends, requires high-octane kitchen prowess:

Put all that crap in a big bowl and mix it until it’s all mixed up. My large silicone spatula is perfect for the job, but you can use a wooden spoon or whatever you have. A toddler would probably be most helpful, but I don’t have any of those.

Then: try not to eat it all at once. Seriously, my mouth has never been so happy. It’s a divine combination of rich, silky avocado, al dente pasta, tangy lemon juice and garlic, and the extra kick of basil. If you want to mess with perfection, you can add fake bacon bits, but I did that once and they turned the pasta pink.

There’s no photo because it just looks like a bowl full of slimy, greenish pasta, which I realize does not sound appetizing in the least and is a major reason why I will never author my own cookbook. The other reasons are a profound lack of motivation and my aversion to using exact quantities, except when baking.

For your edification: in researching the noble avocado, I learned that its name comes from the Nahuatl word āhuacatl, which means testicle. In their flower phase, they can also switch sexes, opening as female in the morning and then reopening as male the next day. Kinky, kinky avocados.

Delicious avocado photo ripped from Raw Food Nation.

Fish are friends, not food.

From the WTF File: Baltimore’s National Aquarium is hosting a sustainable seafood dining series. After enjoying the bodies of oysters and other marine life, guests are invited to tour the Aquarium. You know, to meet the relatives of their dinner.

Is it just me, or is this shades of the Humane Society of Missouri, which recently held a (non-vegan) fundraising barbecue and polo match? The cognitive disconnects that we are capable of astound me. “Greetings, honored donors: here we have our rescued cows, and the buffet is right over there. Try the ribs.” Aaaaarrrrrggghhhh.

Oh, Aquarium. I used to love the Aquarium. It was a place of magic and wonder: the fantastic dolphin show (I never minded getting splashed), the rain forest with its resident sloth, all the millions of species of fish and other creatures. The Australia exhibit was full of the most amazing animals I’ve ever seen. And the seals! I could watch them for hours. Always a water child (I’m a Cancer), I wanted so badly to swim with them. I’m so sad to realize that they don’t have the happy lives I thought they did. They’re bored and penned-in, unable to swim freely and find their own food. Having a dead fish tossed to you must be a pale imitation of the real thing. And the sharks, used to ranging across their territory for miles—a tank, no matter how large and interesting, can’t compare.

I appreciate the conservation and rehabilitation work the Aquarium does. But our oceans are so depleted: why host events where the very creatures you’re trying to save are the main course? (Here, someone will argue that Chesapeake oysters are fine, since the moratorium gave them time to recover their numbers. Good luck with that, oysters.) It’s okay to eat fish, but not dolphins or seals or sea turtles? They’re harmed by fishing too. They’re caught in nets and their food sources are stolen. I’m sad because most people don’t think of sea creatures when they decide to give up meat. Want to rile me up? Tell me you’re a vegetarian who eats fish. I’ll understand, because I was there once, but I’ll make sure you know you’re not a vegetarian.

I think I’m saddest because there are so few ways for people, especially kids, to really interact with animals without those animals being exploited. Farm sanctuaries are wonderful, and I look forward to taking my kids there (you know, once I have them). Then I’ll have to explain why we can’t go to the zoo or the circus or the aquarium—and I know I’ll be conflicted because I’ll want so much for my children to meet a dolphin or a monkey or a giraffe, to experience their sheer awesomeness face-to-face. It’s ironic that because we love animals so much and want to ensure their ethical treatment, we can’t always interact with them in the ways that society tells us we can. Having a conscience sucks sometimes. Red calls it falling down the rabbit hole. I just wish there was a foolproof way to make people acknowledge the connections.

Please don’t feed the stereotypes.

As you know, I’m a newbie blogger. I was excited to actually get off my lazy vegan ass and write about my convictions, but I know myself well enough to realize that I might give up after a week or so. I’ve pleasantly surprised myself, and my readership is slowly expanding. (Bring your friends!) In pursuit of said readership, I posted a link on Facebook once I had enough content to warrant luring people to my new digital realm.

In true Facebook fashion, most people ignored it. A few expressed interest, and one FLIPPED HER SHIT. Turns out that she had met a vegan once, a rabid girl who had positively traumatized her by…I don’t know, exactly. I asked, but she wouldn’t tell me. I don’t know if she had explicit slaughterhouse pictures shoved in her face, or was simply told that meat is murder. At any rate, the encounter left her feeling like she killed babies for fun (her words). She described herself as “just one of those people who likes meat” and confessed that meals don’t feel complete without it. She did let me email her two of my favorite easy recipes to prove that vegan meals can be nutritionally complete as well as delicious. I haven’t heard back from her, but I hope she tries them. I struggled to be as gentle and compassionate as possible, because it was obvious that she’d been very upset by her first conversation with a vegan. Incidentally, that is a vegan who, some days, I would like to throttle.

Anonymous Hardcore Vegan Girl, you definitely made my life a little harder. I’m not denigrating your approach, but it doesn’t work for me. For all I know, you weren’t even that aggro and my friend’s perception is just warped. But I’ve found that shaming people into changing their habits doesn’t work (thanks, PETA). Scolding them only makes them retreat into their ingrained patterns of behavior. Screaming, “You eat BABIES!” at someone, while probably true, is not likely to engage him or her in a sensible dialogue about eating habits and oppression. It’s going to send that person running straight back to Burger King for a Whopper and a mega-rant about that nutty vegan bitch. Then, later on, someone like me has the unenviable task of repairing that damage. There is a time and a place for direct, in-your-face action—and we need more such times and places. But in my experience, alienating someone rarely does more good than harm.

Anonymous Hardcore Vegan Girl, you and I would probably be friends if we met. I would love the chance to stand next to you at an action or a protest, because I haven’t had that in-the-trenches experience. My activism is almost exclusively on a personal level, because that’s what fits my attitude and my lifestyle. I think I could learn a lot from your anger, your refusal to dampen your message to make it more palatable to the masses. We need that kind of anger. But we also need people to listen when we speak, and they can’t do that if we’re always shouting at them.

Letting my freak flag fly.

Over the weekend, I posted Stephanie’s piece about what eventually happens to pregnant dairy cows (and their calves) on my Facebook page. I didn’t watch it, because I don’t feel the need to. I’ve seen enough slaughterhouse and CAFO photos and videos to last me the rest of my life. Still, I was feeling a little aggro and posted it to let people know what, exactly, is wrong with dairy. It’s a question that vegans never seem to be able to escape, right up there with, “But wheeeeere do you get your proooootein?”

So. Yes. Disturbing slaughterhouse video documenting an all-too-common atrocity. Watch it if you will. Red did not watch it, but he did ask me if all dairy cows are treated in such a way. I admitted that I didn’t know for sure, but that I expected that the vast majority of them are, given that the industry isn’t going to let unproductive mama cows settle down in a nice pasture somewhere to give birth, then live out their remaining years (did you know that a cow’s natural lifespan is about 20 years?) in peace. It’s just not done. They’re viewed as commodities, not living beings. When a commodity is no longer useful, it’s disposed of. End of story, end of life.

Red was frustrated and felt that by Stephanie’s logic (and that of many vegans), he is evil for loving cheese and ice cream. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked in exasperation. Here, I sighed. *sigh* It’s never my intention to upset him or make him feel less than I am simply because I’m vegan and he’s omni. I am over-the-moon excited that he’s taking PCRM’s 21-day vegan challenge next month, and he’s not doing it for me, either. (I dared him, then his co-workers really dared him, and that sealed the deal. Vegan for 21 days he shall be.) I’m thrilled that not only is he willing to give it a shot, but that he’s committed to succeeding. Look for both of us to blog about it extensively! We bought an awesome new cookbook, 30-Minute Vegan, in preparation for the challenge. Last week he decided to quit eating beef after learning from Jenn’s thoughtful post that it takes 2,500 gallons of water to make a single pound of beef. He says he’ll go back to eating other animal products after the challenge is over, and maybe he will. What am I gonna do, stop loving my husband because he’s addicted to cheese? I married a guy, not a pizza. It’s hard to make this change. He’s gotten flak from coworkers and family members already, and he hasn’t even started yet. People are threatened by others who are willfully different.

That’s never been such a big deal for me, but it is huge for Red. Once I got to college, I grew to be comfortable with myself—the weird, artsy girl with short hair, glasses and a pierced nose whom everyone assumed was a lesbian. (Sorry, ladies.) Adding “vegan” to the list of other-nesses was not a big trauma as far as my identity was concerned. Red has always been happiest when comfortably integrated into a group. It’s made him very perceptive to the needs of others, but it’s also making his life more difficult as he tries to move away, however experimentally, from the dominant meat-eating culture. I have to remind myself of this whenever I feel impatient. I am very much okay with letting my freak flag fly, if you will. Call me crazy, stupid, anarchist, tree-hugger, whatever you got, and it rolls off me. I know it’s just your defense mechanism talking, and I’m not losing any sleep over it. It’s a frightening new experience for him, however. He doesn’t want to be seen as alien.

Can I just take a break here to reiterate that he isn’t even vegan yet? All he’s committed to is a three-week vegan immersion. You can bet that no one would be disparaging him if he was going on Atkins for three weeks. It’s really brought home to me just how threatening even the idea of veganism is. I must seem like Osama bin Laden with an artichoke grenade. Jesus.

Obviously I’ll need to do a follow-up post. I just remembered that I want to address Bob Torres’ “Vegan Isn’t a Dirty Word,” which deals with the freak-flag issue head-on. In the meantime, I am learning about patience, Red is counting down the days to his Vegan-palooza, and we are both tinkering with new recipes.

Awww, we got maaaaarried.

PETA scraps billboard, still sucks.

UPDATE! For an activist's-eye view of the protest that greeted Ingrid Newkirk's appearance in Portland, check out ERFette's powerful blog:

Standing Up to Fat Phobia, PETA Style
Standing Up to Fat Phobia, PETA Style: Chapter 2

It's heartbreaking, ballsy stuff. I dare you to read it and then tell me you're still convinced of Newkirk's and PETA's compassion.

***

Dear PETA,

Nice try. You think replacing that heinous "Save the Whales" billboard with some self-referential nonsense about vegetarians losing weight is gonna get you back into my pants (or my in-box)? Well, suck it. I can guaran-goddamn-tee you that no one who saw that thing, either in person or through the almighty power of the Internet, said two words about animal rights or veganism. You talk shit about stirring things up and bemoan the fact that some people felt the need to "shoot the messenger," but now you're patting yourselves on the back about all the positive feedback you've gotten from people pledging to take your 30-day vegan challenge. And yet? What's that I hear? An apology for your crass fat-hating, woman-hating tactics? Nope. Must be my imagination.

fuck off for good,
v.b.

P.S. Stephanie over at Change.org's Animal Rights blog thinks you suck too, but she's more eloquent about it than I am.

Badass billboard by Kelly of easyVegan.info.

Veganasana.

This weekend I was lucky enough to participate in a Jivamukti yoga workshop. I’d been curious about it, as it’s the only style of yoga that overtly advocates a vegan lifestyle, but there are no Jivamukti teachers where we live. (The closest is in D.C., and I don’t go to D.C. unless there’s a truly above-and-beyond reason. D.C., I hate you and your pointless layout and horrible traffic.) It’s a relatively new style, developed by Sharon Gannon and David Life in 1984. Jivamukti translates as “liberation while living,” and as Gannon writes:

The first step in Patanjali's system of Yoga is Ahimsa, which means the practice of non-harming and nonviolence. This is the reason vegetarianism is a main tenet of Yoga. You simply cannot eat another being without harming them first. The practices of Yoga are meant to be practices, meaning you work toward the attainment of perfection, knowing that perfection may never come.

As long as we are living in physical bodies we will continue to cause some harm to others on this planet. So the practice of Ahimsa becomes one of trying to cause the least amount of harm. Everyone knows that eating a vegetarian diet uses up the least amount of natural resources and so causes the least amount of harm to the whole planet.

As you get better at Ahimsa, you get closer to the realization of your True being as that which is Peaceful and free of debilitating internal conflicts. Many people have difficulty with accepting a vegetarian lifestyle as intrinsic to the practice of yoga asana. Perhaps we can clarify that by examining the Sanskrit word "asana". It means "seat." Seat means connection to the Earth. Earth means all things: animals, plants, minerals, all existence. To practice asana really means to practice your relationship to Earth and all of her manifestations.

In my own practice, I try to keep ahimsa in the forefront of my mind as I walk my vegan path. (I did not display much ahimsa when I flipped off that idiot driver on Saturday, but….) I loved the idea of vegan yoga! Anyway, I received an email from the yoga studio where I occasionally take classes advertising this two-hour Jivamukti master class. It sounded amazing, but master class? I gulped. I love yoga and practice when I can, but masterful I am certainly not. Red assured me that I would be fine, that no one would be criticizing my Downward-Facing Dog or ability to kick up into Headstand (an ability which is wholly absent). I felt some anxiety as I drove to the studio, but reminded myself that pushing out of my comfort zone from time to time is one of the best ways to learn.

The class started off with a short session of chanting and sitting meditation, which is always a challenge for me. I hate sitting still, and I knew that at least one of my legs would fall asleep, but I tried anyway. I was surprised at how well I was able to calm my mind and actually sit still without fidgeting—as I closed my eyes and focused on my breath, I swear I actually started to fall asleep. I jerked back to full consciousness, then continued sitting with my eyes open. And yes, my right leg did fall asleep, but it woke up as we went right from sitting to asana practice. I had never tried to do Downward-Facing Dog with a numb foot, but it worked.

The practice itself was vigorous, but it felt good to move in and out of the rhythmic asanas, with Allison (the visiting instructor) counting inhalations and exhalations. The studio was almost uncomfortably warm—not as warm as it would have been during a hot yoga class, but warm enough to have all of us soaked with sweat in less than half an hour. She walked around the room, rubbing eucalyptus cream into our necks and shoulders. It’s always weird to have another person touching me, even a yoga instructor, but the cream brought a cooling tingle and smelled divine. Must find eucalyptus cream, I said to myself while huffing from Downward Dog into Plank. (Aside: weight training with Red seems to be working! My arms and shoulders definitely feel stronger.) The asana series wasn’t all that different from what I’m used to, but I enjoyed it and was definitely challenged. It’s fascinating to watch my body as I move into different asanas—how my shoulders feel rolled back, for example, instead of hunched, and how much easier it is to hold Downward Dog when I press my fingers into the mat instead of only my palms.

After two hours and an abortive Headstand attempt, I was a puddle of exhausted, sweaty vegan. I felt awesome. I was completely wrung out—and so was my headband, which didn’t do a very good job of keeping the sweat out of my eyes, but that’s okay, headband. Today, two days later, I’m ridiculously sore, but in a satisfying way. Allison didn’t talk about Jivamukti’s focus on veganism, as I’d been hoping she would, and I was too tired to ask her about it personally. Still, I’m very glad to have finally experienced Jivamukti yoga. Whether or not I ever get to study it regularly, I know that I can find my own vegan asana wherever I am.