I'm totally Mortified

There are times in life when you get to where you planned to be, and you look up and realize you're about to share your innermost secrets to a theatre filled with strangers. I have no idea how I get myself into these situations, but tomorrow night at about this time (8 p.m. on June 2nd), I will be doing just that...

It's called Mortified, and I'll be just that...

Mortified: Hailed a "cultural phenomenon" by Newsweek and celebrated by
the likes of This American Life, The Today Show, The Onion AV Club,
Esquire, Entertainment Weekly, Daily Candy, and more, Mortified is a
comic
excavation of teen angst artifacts (journals, letters, poems, lyrics,
home
movies, stories, and more) as shared by their original authors before
total strangers. As the largest and longest-running project of its kind,

our grassroots comedy collective has spent years sifting through
hundreds
of otherwise forgotten notebooks on a mission to celebrate the
extraordinary lives of ordinary people. Mortified is co-produced in New
York by Brandy Barber and Anne Altman.
www.getmortified.com

I will post a blog entry to tell you how it goes. In a nutshell, I'll be talking all about my obsession with Bette Midler, as well as several other legends of the theatre, but also including my teachers and waitresses.

And yet, I had no idea that the Kinsey Scale might possibly be a bit...tipped.

Which is not to say that I didn't have my day with the boys. I came out as bisexual when I was 19, but then somehow wound up ENGAGED to a MAN a couple years later. I always think: I could be a fat New Jersey WIFE by now... thank Gaia I found my way, and stopped to smell the .

Still, despite popular belief, I am MUCH MORE SHY than you'd imagine, and so I'm a bit TERRIFIED about tomorrow night...

I'll leave you with a snippet from my 7th grade journal:

March 2, 1992—AGE 12 ½

I disagree completely with what the critics say about Bette Midler.
For the last few days, they haven't had positive things to say about
her. They said that she JUST BARELY MADE IT as an Oscar nominee.
That's not true! She was FABULOUS in For the Boys!!!!! Being my one
and only idol, she's FABULOUS in EVERYTHING! She deserves that Oscar
and SHE WILL GET IT!!!!


March 4

Everybody has an idol. Everybody has a hero. Everybody has an
obsession. But NO ONE is as obsessed as me!! My obsession with Bette
Midler started in October. I was watching her 1988 movie, Beaches, for
the 12th time. I always loved that movie, but that time it was
different.


March 8

I belong to Verne Fowler School of Dance and Theatre Arts. When I go
up on stage, I feel so free! I don't have to be myself. I could be
anyone. Anyone at all. I could even go anywhere. To the moon, outer
space, Japan, Louisiana, anywhere!

Verne Fowler isn't the only stage-work that I do. I also belong to the
junior choir at my temple. Being the oldest (next year I start teen
choir), I almost always have a solo. Other than those, I audition for
plays throughout Middlesex County. I do plays at camp as well. This
last summer, I was in the musical, Annie. I played Mr. Bundles, the
laundry man. Most people think that my wanting to be an actress is
just a phase. Well, it's not! I'm going to make my dream a reality!


March 12

I saw the movie, This is My Life. I LOVED IT!!! It was witty,
charming, funny, sad, and Julie Kavner was terrific! It would've been
better with Bette Midler, but wouldn't everything?!?!

Milk and Other Trash

I have laryngitis. For everyone who has ever told me to shut up, your wish is my command. When I try really hard to speak, it sounds like I am honking.

Yesterday I picked up Augusten Burroughs' new book, Wolf at the Table. Augusten is the author of Running With Scissors and Dry, two incredibly morose memoirs. Aside from trashy lesbian fiction, my favorite thing to read when I'm not immersed in this animal book or that animal book, is depressing autobiographies. They somehow make life seem much sunnier for me.

Yesterday, Darren and I bought lotto tickets. It's up to 100 million dollars. Keep your fingers crossed.

M and I were talking about what we would do if we won an absurd amount of money. We were honestly stumped--aside from opening a foundation where activists could apply for our grants, we couldn't think of very much.

Though, if we won, I'm sure we'd figure something out...

Tonight I will be stopping at Pure Food and Wine takeout for the best damn (non-oppressive) "cheese" you ever did have. We have this theory, though, that the carnivores don't really GET how amazing this "cheese" is. It is so good, but no animals were harmed in the making of it.

Really, eating dairy is one of the most egregious forms of cruelty. When people say they are vegetarians but not vegan, for ethical reasons, I want to say..."GO VEGAN! But if you're not going to, at least ditch the milk for the flesh of large animals...like cows (beef)...because when you support the dairy industry, the animals are being grossly abused, and only eventually killed, after they are considered "spent"... plus of course, the veal industry is a DIRECT link to the meat industry... since cows born male are made into veal because only girls can be dairy cows. Dairy cows have to be constantly impregnated in order to produce milk--just like us, gals. And their babies are taken away from them immediately. Plus, milk is BAD FOR YOU. And why did I say eat large animals as opposed to small ones? For all you ethical "I-don't-eat-red-meat" types, when you eat "red meat," (cows), less animals suffer than when you eat small ones (turkeys and chickens). So the bottom line is...Ditch the Damn Dairy! And go vegan! And go to Pure Food and Wine takeaway and get Dr.Cow, the best cheese in the world!

(And you thought you could get me to shut up...)

I once wrote a paper for grad school and said, quite dramatically (yet truthfully) that as a rape survivor, I simply cannot palate the idea of consuming dairy, since the cows are being raped over and over again in order to produce babies. For more on that subject, read this or this.

You can see why I have to stop sometimes and read trash.

Thanking the Monkey

(That's a fairly unflattering shot of me in Ventura last week.)

No good deed goes unpunished. I have this gross virus (don't get too close to your computer) that was surely caused from my kind hearted attempt to quiet a little child (Deon) sitting behind me on the plane ride from LAX to JFK. The fever and chills even brought me to the doctor, a place I haven't been in at least 7 or 8 years. Alas, I am beginning to feel better, thanks to a VERY patient girlfriend and an empathic and warm doggie.

My trip to California was, just that, a trip. I had a great time on the other side of the country, doing outreach and whatnot. (The whatnot was particularly fun.) On my final day, I stayed with my friend Karen Dawn. Karen's new book, Thanking the Monkey: Rethinking the Way We Treat Animals hits bookstores TODAY and I SWEAR ON MY LIFE, we do not have another 101-type book that is this comprehensive, sensitive, witty, and on the mark. There are tons of cartoons scattered throughout this book, including those of my other buddy Dan (who is also a complete genius), and beautiful veg celebs, like the wickedly hot Pink. Karen does a brilliant job of approaching the welfare-abolitionist argument, and then, like any good advocate, she moves past it, and onto more important uses of energy, such as informing her readers about everything from animals in circuses to farm animals. And her dogs are also throughout the book... I had the huge privilege of spending time with these dogs last week. Buster and Paula are fabulous, and Buster sings Joni Mitchell songs quite well. Here is a pictures of Paula:




I love them! I miss them! Though being with them made me miss my Rose, and of course my Xhosa.

Funny afterword: TWO DAYS LATER, I decided to walk Rose around the block late at night. I took her a different route, and as I turned the corner onto Prince Street, who do I see standing outside of a bar on the phone but KAREN DAWN! It was hilarious. 15 minutes later, Mariann and I were having a drink with Karen AND Rose! Thank you to the Soho Grand, and it's dog-friendly rules.

And now I'm sick as a dog.

Here are some pictures from Mariann's birthday party a few weeks ago:

Jasmin Avenue, California USA

I write to you from Orange County, California, where I'm attempting to warm up my freezing cold motel room. I'm here assisting in outreach on the historic Prevention of Farm Animal Cruelty Act, which, if passed, would ban three of the cruelest confinement systems for farm animals--battery cages, gestation crates, and veal crates.
California for Humane Farms is a coalition of animal protection organizations, spear-headed by the fabulous Farm Sanctuary and HSUS, as well as many other smaller animal protection organizations. If you've read my blog before, you know that I am the outreach coordinator for Farm Sanctuary, the nation's leading farm animal protection organization. We have worked with thousands of volunteers to gather 800,000 sigantures from people who want to see this on the ballot in November--and it worked! Mainly through volunteers, we have gained enough signatures to bring the vote to the people.

Anyone who doesn't think that vegans travel around in style have not seen Black Beauty. That's the name of the truck I'm traveling around in, with Jason P. driving Miss Jasmin. The truck has 3 80-inch screens, and at night we show footage of factory farming. During the day, the screens are covered with messaging tarps--and oh my, the looks we get...



Jason P. and I started our day out with french toast and tofu omelets at Real Food Daily in Hollywood, and then headed for Mission Viejo where I spoke to a room full of volunteers who are truly awe-inspiring, to say the least. We showed a bunch of people the truck and then headed to Native Foods, where I had fake chicken that would give Red Bamboo's soul chicken a run for its money. Our waitress, the lovely Megan, walked us back to the truck and gave us a box of vegan doughnut holes for our evening, which we wound up inhaling before we pulled onto the Freeway. Then it was off to Laguna Beach, where we parked BB on a heavy foot-trafficked area. I got out of the truck to call M, and I saw the big black truck in front of me, garnering many uncomfortable glances. In back of me was the Pacific Ocean, full of bon-fires on the sandy beaches. Boy oh boy, did I feel zaftig. The street we parked on was called "Jasmine Ave," but they mistakenly had an "e."



We headed back to Lake Forest, where I sit in my motel room now, which is only slightly warmer than when I started this entry.

Before I left for California, I was bitching about this and that. I won't get into the reasons why--such as the fact that marriage such a blatantly unfair privilege and it blows my mind and keeps me up at night that more straight people don't realize that and then stand in solidarity with those not so lucky, until we are--and so both M and Dezz keep saying "267, 267," over and over again, and here's why:

Every second in this country, that is the amount of chickens killed for food. 267. Puts things in perspective, yes? So I left the house and got it tattooed on my left wrist: 267. A gentle reminder, a not-so-gentle reminder, a powerful conversation starter, a morbid moment... A romantic gesture, even, since that figure came from an article that M co-wrote. Okay, maybe not romantic...

I also had a V added to another tattoo of mine.



V for Vendetta, of course.

Tomorrow, off for Ventura, then Santa Barbara, and then back to LA...

One last thing... I said to a bunch of wealthy Californians that Thursday I was going back to "the city." That's how I said it: "the city."

"I'm sure you're talking about Trenton," said Jason P.

As if there were only one city...

Well, there's only one city for me...And I miss Her.

Spring is Here and the Sky is So Very Blue

There are yellow roses in full bloom in a vase on the windowsill below the new blinds--the blinds that I'm very happy about. On the other windowsill is a brown and white Rose, who is staring intently at Thompson Street. I love coming home late at night and gazing up at the window only to see Rose staring back. As if that weren't welcoming enough, the lights on in background--the 3 beautiful bell-like fixtures--show me that M is home, probably catching up on her email or watching PBS. I walk in the door and there is this sense of comfort, one that I've never felt before. Even when it's hectic, it's warm.

Of course there are those moments--and they are often--when I think of my kitty who is under the good care of my roommate uptown. Xhosa is a warrior. I've always said she should write a book about how it was to start her life on the streets of Harlem, only to be brought in by a young activist who had two other cats--a fact that was later learned to be a no-no. So she traipsed up to Washington Heights where she met me, and then three years later, I am rarely around. She is an independent little girl, but if you get to know her, you will see how sensitive and sweet she really is. Think of everything we'd learn about coping skills, about life, about small treasures, about unconditional love, if the animals could write books.

I just had my lunch--a spinach, sauerkraut, tahini sandwich on sprouted Ezekiel bread. I know how disgusting that sounds--believe me. But it is so good, it is filling and scrumptious.

Blogs and Animals are Finally Running Again...

Okay, okay. I've been blogstipated. Blame it on the bananas in my life.
In situations like that, the best thing to get things flowing again can
be a few good dates. And here I am again.

Last week I was busy (to say the least) with working on events around Gene Baur's
new book, Farm Sanctuary:
Changing Hearts and Minds about Animals and Food. This book
tells the story of how Farm Sanctuary began.
It was funded by selling tofu dogs at Grateful Dead concerts, and was
run from an oldschool bus . Gene was a visionary hippie then (well,
okay, he still is), and his crazy new idea became the farm animal
protection movement. Now, Farm Sanctuary has 2 sanctuaries--one in
Watkins Glen, NY, and the other in Orland, California. In addition to
providing rescue and rehabilitation for farmed animals who would
otherwise be sent to slaughter, Farm Sanctuary advocates on a national
level--providing education and outreach, and working to pass laws to
protect these animals. I am lucky enough to be the outreach coordinator
based in NYC. I say to myself every day: I cannot imagine doing
anything else.

My 83-year-old Grandma, along with my mother
and step-father, went to one of Gene's book-signings in NJ. My grandma
bought the book and said to me later that she wants to read it so she
can understand what I'm so passionate about. She was merely a few pages
in when she called me and said "I understand what you're so passionate
about! I'm going to telleveryone about this..."

My favorite
part of the book are the animal stories, which conclude every chapter.
They tell the individual stories of the animals who wind up at the
farm--their story, their escape, their survival, and their quirks and
charms.

At all events last week, the book sold out. I think
that Farm Sanctuary: Changing Hearts and Minds about Animals and Food,
has the potential to change the world.

In other news...my tooth hurts. I loathe the dentist. I hate the dentist. I abhor
the dentist. I don't understand what I have done in my life to deserve
the emotional and physical trauma of sitting in that chair with rubber
gloves in my mouth, the sound of drilling and buzzing permeating my
ears. (MyPrivilege -Watch Voice now says: Shut up, Jasmin! Look at how
lucky you are going to the dentist! My Martyr Voice responds: YOU shut
up! I want to complain!)

I have this theory that since we have to be subjected to the dentist anyway, why not do it at the same time as the gyno?
Get it all through in one go. One doctor at one end, the other doctor
at the other. And for fun, we can also get a manicure at the same time,
just to distract us slightly.

I mean, why not?

"We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks."

Did anyone see the total eclipse of the moon last night**? The moon radiated a hot pink that was reminiscent of my mid-80's wardrobe. It affected me much more than I had anticipated. It reminded me that we are really such peons in this universe, yet at the same time I felt like the universe was so teeny-tiny and we were all huge invasive monsters. I often have bi-polar thoughts like that...co-existing feelings that everything is so big and so small. And I don't even do drugs.

I called my mother when I saw the eclipse, urging her to go outside and look at it for herself, but she whined "I'm in bed!" Then I called my 83-year-old grandma, who rushed outta bed in order to see it. If you're ever having a bad day, call my grandma. She's just...outstanding. She's even better than a total eclipse of the moon.

Remember Bonnie Tyler's Total Eclipse of the Heart? As I type, I am singing that song out loud. If someone had a video camera, my career and reputation could be ruined in one single youtube hit. You have to look at the lyrics to this song now and sing it out loud...it's your homework. Watch yourself in your bathroom mirror belting out "forever's gonna start tonight". Let me know what you discover about yourself.

Ah yes, Meatloaf days. I think I'll start a band. I'll call it Lentil Loaf.

Speaking of lentils, pick up the March/April issue of VegNews. Not only do I have an article in it on the subject of activist burnout, but M has a quotable, and Rose makes a cameo!

Quote of the day: (from an audience member at a recent activism workshop) "I am not vegan, but I know I'm doing something wrong."



**Jasmin's dumb thing of yesterday: During the eclipse, I proclaimed that astrologers must be so excited. Eclipses are big days for astrologers.

(Oy, jasmin, jasmin...)