Ready, Willing, and Sable

Fire up the grill...



The other night my freelance boss and mentor met me for dinner at a vegan restaurant.

She wore a full-length golden Russian sable fur coat.

Needless to say, in true passive-aggressive, non-confrontational Portland fashion someone spilled a drink on the collar of the pelt when I took her up to the bar and introduced her to the owners. Not red wine, not beer, but ice and a lemon, the dregs from a water glass. It was evidently a “militant” vegan on their way out the door, one who knew that they would not survive getting into an actual heated dialog with a blonde bombshell who not only totes a jacket made of small, carnivorous mammals but also wears diamonds the size of human kidneys in her earlobes.

I would like to express to this person, whoever you are, that your action embarrassed me and made me want to kill and eat your pet. You’re not going to gain any new sympathizers to your cause by behaving in such a spineless manner. The next time you see someone wearing something you find despicable, eating something you find inhumane, or behaving in a way that you find objectionable say something. That’s how we roll in cities like New York. It’s called being direct. It will make cynics like me start respecting vegans as opposed to mocking them. I was mortified that someone I respect, even if I don’t fully align myself with their fashion choices, was treated in such a way in an establishment that I considered to be “my” turf. I wanted to show how fantastic vegans are in only the way a new convert could. Instead I wound up backpedaling awkwardly, unsure of who was right or wrong.

Also, you have poor aim.

All of this said, I am still - yes, still! - not eating meat, dairy, eggs, or pizza. (I don’t like pizza. That has not changed.) I tried to have my CoffeeMate once but was wracked with the kind of nausea rivaled only by senior citizens eating day-old lobster salad on their first Royal Caribbean cruise. I still have the odd craving for rotisserie chicken or Yoplait yogurt but I really don’t miss any of my omnivorous munchies. That and Eva Darling nearly got me to propose to her after making me tofu scramble, fresh baked foccacia, roasted vegetables, and dark chocolate covered strawberries for brunch the other day. I’m actually eating better than I was before I went all-plant, and I feel better. I still have had to take two pregnancy tests just to make sure I’m not vegan eating for two, but my energy level is up and I’m feeling stronger. Maybe that’s more due to bike riding, skateboarding, and the warm weather making hot, tattooed Portland residents strip down to their light-cotton vintage duds. I hear a skateboard outside now, right on cue. Just got whiplash looking out the window.

I'm continuing with Jerk Ethic, and I’ve also decided that my next blog will be another exploration in something I shit-talk and yet don‘t fully understand.

I’m thinking Wicca.