Yesterday, the pope put in his two weeks notice. Despite my uncharacteristically Baptist love of Lent, I am not Catholic, have never been Catholic, and do not plan to become Catholic anytime soon. But pope-deaths (or in this case, resignations), will always have a special place in my heart. Pope-deaths will forever remind me of the first time I got drunk.
It’s Lent again and that can only mean one thing: I have given up way too many things. Once again, I’ve become vegan, but I’ve also 86ed gluten while I’m at it. This time last year, I was subsisting on beer, brown rice and peanut butter, so things were not going well. By comparison, I’ve been doing great this time around! I’ve expanded my vegan repertoire to include quinoa pasta and a variety of Asian food, which means I actually eat sometimes. Things seem pretty good!
|Adorable Tibetan girl waits to see His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama speak on the Capitol Lawn|
A week and a half ago, His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama was giving a public peace talk on the Capitol lawn as part of his DC tour. New roommate CS and I went to see him, and I learned many important lessons as a result. But most of these are probably not the ones you are expecting:
Rebecca Black knows her shit. Ok, it was a Saturday, Saturday as opposed to a Friday, Friday, but do you know how much you accomplish when you get up at 7a.m.? A whole friggin’ lot. Look at my schedule for the day:
7:00 a.m Waking up in the morning, gotta be fresh gotta go downstairs
7:30 a.m. Tibetan dresses sure are more complicated than I remember…
8:00 a.m. Head to the capitol to see the Dalai Lama
8:30 a.m. Make new friend
11:20 a.m. Die of heat stroke
11:30 a.m. Visit Botanical Gardens!
12:15 p.m. Lunch at the Museum of the American Indian*
12:45 p.m. Peruse the National Galleries
1:30 p.m. Chillin’ in the Kogod Courtyard (National Portrait Gallery)
2:15 p.m. Library!
2:30 p.m. Call family
3:30 p.m. Reading!
4:00 p.m. Nap!
5:00 p.m. Clean kitchen/plan wedding/acquire tickets to Hanson concert
6:00 p.m. Make pasta from scratch!
8:00 p.m. Watch Michael Bay blow shit up for two hours
10:30 p.m Very scholarly conversation about what an asshat Michael Bay is and also how Transformers 3 is set in a completely fictional DC with tall buildings, narrow alleys and randomly old palatial apartments that do not exist anywhere within District boundaries.
11:45 p.m. More reading!
11:47 p.m. Fall asleep reading.
SO MUCH ACCOMPLISHMENT FOR ONE DAY. We hit up five Smithsonians in a two hour time period. I should get up at 7 every day! Normal Saturdays, I’m lucky to get clothes on. Heck, it’s a Monday right now and I’m still in my dressing gown.
*Most delicious museum food you’ll ever find. Seriously. I have never actually been to the museum part of that museum, but I have eaten there at least half a dozen times.
Randomly wearing another culture’s traditional dress is a totally appropriate idea. You may or may not know that I spent a summer interning at a Tibetan high school in India. This means that I happen to own several Chubas (traditional Tibetan dresses, sometimes spelled Chupa) that I once put one on for work every day, but now have little to no opportunity wear them. And here was an almost-plausible excuse to pull one out of the closet! So what if it’s a 10,000 degree July day, it takes me like 20 minutes to figure out where all the ties go and I feel totally self conscious being the random white girl dressed in cultural garb! It’s festive! At least, that’s what CS tried to convince me.
|Rockin’ a chuba with my teaching mentor in India. Not sure why I look so sweaty. I blame the monsoon.|
Turns out that it was a good idea, because if there’s any message that being a random white person in a Tibetan dress going to see the Dalai Lama sends to the world, it’s “Hey, that random white person is almost certainly headed to see the Dalai Lama! I bet I could ask her for directions.” Which is how I made a new Tibetan friend! Let’s call him Tenzin.**
Tenzin was visiting from New York, where he’s lived for the past 5 years. We chatted about the pros and cons of New York and DC, his job and of course, why the hell I was wearing a Tibetan dress. I explained my background with the Tibetan school and we talked a little bit about the Tibetan community in India. As we parted, he said I that I should try to go see some of the Buddhist teachings that were going on at the Verizon Center all week. He offered to ask around if anyone had extra tickets and let me know.
And then later that evening, I got a call! He’d gotten a handful of (really good) tickets for myself and some friends to go see the Dalai Lama’s teaching the next day! All because I’d run into him in the metro in a chuba. Well, and also because Tibetans are collectively the nicest people the world, who will go out of their way to help complete strangers, but you know, the dress too!
**Hilarious Tibetan joke!!!
It’s that time of year again, folks. After months of irrelevancy, the growler on our mantle piece festooned with Mardi Gras beads has finally rounded the corner back to seasonal appropriateness. Last weekend, we took down the Christmas tree (why stop at Epiphany when you can celebrate straight through to Ash Wednesday?) which can only mean one thing: Lent.
Unlike probably 99% of the world’s Christians, Lent is my favorite time of year. Strangely, I am not Catholic, I’m Baptist, which makes the whole thing extra weird. Baptists do not normally observe Lent, and yet, I always have. Then again, Baptists are a huge, somewhat amorphous group known for doing whatever the hell they want, and it’s only in recent years that we’ve been collectively associated with the rigid doctrines of Crazy Town thanks to Jerry Falwell and the like. Just last week I had a good friend announce to me, “I don’t like Baptists. I like you, but I don’t like Baptists.” As a result, I don’t much care for talking about religion to acquaintances because I always feel the need to qualify that I’m not that kind of Baptist, and Lent is generally a time that I have to do a lot of explaining for my strange behavior. Nonetheless, I look forward to Ash Wednesday every year.
In the past, I’ve given up everything from chewing gum to processed sugar (that one’s a bitch, by the way, good luck if you try that). I also always try to do something extra–this year it’s going be daily meditation, finally finishing all of that asshat Paul’s writings, and blogging twice a week instead of once–but I know I’ll know I’ll inevitably fail at the doing extra stuff and what I give up is what I’m most like to accomplish. So in 2011, I’m going a little more hardcore than even processed sugar: veganism.
All of my friends have been horrified to hear this (except Ethiopians. Thank God for Ethiopians). If you don’t know me very well, it’s not that big a stretch–I’m already vegetarian. If you do know me very well, however, you know that dairy is my favorite food group. The entire year I lived in France I existed on cheese and bread. My sister gets angry at the quantity of milk I drink every time I visit her. I can (and probably have) eat an entire box of Costco cream puffs in one sitting. I am in love with dairy!
But for the people who know me really, really well, my love of dairy is nothing compared to a much bigger obstacle: my zealous hatred of Vegans. I hate Vegans with the fire of a thousand suns.
Just to clarify, there are two type of vegans in this world. There are vegans and then there are Vegans. vegans are fine and do not offend me at all. In fact, you don’t even know that they are vegan until you invite them over for a dinner party and they apologetically tell you that they are in fact, vegan, and would you mind if they brought a nice vegan quinoa salad over so they’d have something to eat, please don’t trouble yourself at all. Then there are Vegans. Vegans are smug, self-righteous, crusading punks who think they are better than everyone else because they don’t eat animal bi-products. They force their ideals down your throat and recount gruesome details about stock-yards are in the middle of your steak dinner. They look down their noses at your regular TOMS because they’re just not quite as politically-correct as their Vegan TOMS (which are fugly, by the way).
The worst Vegan encounter I ever had was about a year ago, a coworker of L’s invited K and I to a vegetarian Meet-Up lunch in the area. Coworker and I are both ovo-lacto vegetarians, and K is a pescetarian. We agreed to go and headed to a Vietnamese restaurant in the area one Saturday afternoon. When we got there, it was a strange mix of people. We were the youngest there as the average group demographic seemed to be 40ish single types. One woman was wearing this t-shirt:
|I only have one thing to say to you, shirt: This.|
It became quickly apparent that this Vegetarian Meet-Up group was populated entirely by Vegans. Someone made a disparaging comment about pescetarians. Another person kept firing off meat-eater jokes, and everyone else laughed and tried to one-up each other. I’ve never eaten meat in my life, and I was still offended. I hoped that there was secretly fish sauce all over everything. To make matters worse, everyone was also really, really awkward. An balding guy twice our age kept hitting on K by commenting on her Jewish and Russian heritage (she is neither?) and making vaguely antisemitic comments (“It’s ok because I’m part Jewish!”). But the weirdest point in the afternoon came when people started talking about their cat children. Because everyone at this table was a crazy cat person.
Not only did were we regaled with delightful stories of Fluffy, Mittens, and Snowball, but we also heard tragic tales about cat companions of years past and their sorrowful, losing battles with cat cancer. Then the cell phones came out. You know when you go to someone’s house and they force you to sit through a slideshow of their most recent vacation and it’s really boring and all you can think about is escape strategies? Well looking at seemingly infinite pictures of cats on people’s flip-phones from approximately 2003 is a thousand times worse. Lunch felt interminable. I wanted to rake out my eyeballs with chopsticks. When we finally escaped, even Coworker, who is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, could only say, “Well, um… that was… interesting.”
I’m not trying to claim here that all Vegans are also Crazy Cat People, but based on this sample size, the correlation seemed pretty high. Moreover, I am claiming that all Vegans are at least a little nuts. This give vegans everywhere a bad name, and it is one of the reasons Lent is going to be so hard this year. Much like Jerry Falwell is to Baptists, everyone involved is tainted by Vegan’s name. But during this time of lent, this will be a good thing for me. Maybe I’ll learn to be a little less apologetic about being a Baptist. Maybe I’ll stop being so prejudiced towards Vegans. But like the readings of Paul, probably ain’t gonna happen. Jefferson Bible here I come!