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...)

Bob backwards is still Bob

I got the idea of posting the article I'm about to talk about from my friend Isa (okay, I stole it from her without asking). Bob Barker has just donated a million bucks to his alma mater so that they can start an undergrad animal-ethics program. Is that the coolest thing?

The fact that the story I'm about to tell you about Bob Barker is my all-time FAVORITE Bob Barker story (not that I have many) is going to surely reserve my feminist self a spot in hell. My BFF's partner, "D", was in a hotel room with Barker--not as scandalous as it sounds. D is an animal rights lawyer and was at some conference with Bob. He asked Bob if Marisa could meet him since she's such a big fan. Bob asked how old she was, to which D responded "27." Bob said (I'm not kidding!) "tell her to COME ON DOWN!"

In other news, there is nothing more comfortable than my big ol' blue sweatshirt I've had since I was 16. I can't believe I was EVER 16.

Tomorrow night...

blues that blame february

I don't think I've lost my mojo. I often think, today I'm going to blog. I do have a lot to say... but often, my thoughts are disjointed. I could write about how every February is difficult for me (last year being the all-time worst) and yet, I'm never quite sure if it's February's fault for giving me the blues, or the blues that blame February.

It's so cold out, and (finally) snowy. I think New York is so pretty when it's under a thin blanket of white, and I usually don't mind the sensation of nearly slipping on the ice with every step. Yet tonight, I felt so afraid falling, and as I took tiny steps down the huge hill that leads to my apartment, everyone else fearlessly flew by me. They held Whole Foods bags and small children. I held my torn turquoise bag and a copy of Slaughterhouse. I also held my notion of February.

Tonight, M and I had dinner with our darling friend who we'll call Dezz--one of those people who come across your life and you know that they're there to stay. We went to Red Bamboo and ate the most delicious mock meat you'll ever eat. Last month, we went there with my brother--a hard-core flesh eater--and he was floored by the soul chicken. I felt like I'd done my good deed that day.

Today I worked hard (which always makes me feel a little better) and then I watched 15 minutes of a ludicrous television show on Bravo, which M mysteriously receives all of a sudden. It was about a millionaire match-making service who links up absurdly wealthy men with insanely beautiful women. After sitting, mouth agape, in front of the TV watching slimy girls throw themselves on appearance-obsessed men, I thanked my lucky stars that I'm rough around the edges--and that I'm gay.

Coming home today, I was met with an unfortunate letter from a certain estranged someone with whom I don't care to correspond. The letter sits unopened to my left at this desk, and despite feeling antsy about it, and frustrated, I also feel surprisingly empty.

Yet I also feel February.

Still, in all this self-induced gloom, I am so looking forward to seeing a Rufus Wainwfight concert this Thursday.

I just think he's the cat's meow.

unnecessary dislcaimer

Oy vey. I just reread my last entry and though I'm not going to delete it because for all intents and purposes, it is entirely honest...but I do feel slightly embarrassed and that I am coming across as holier-than-thou or small-minded. I know very well that in the process of all the bigotry that has (and still does) PARTLY shaped our society, there has been (and still is) lots of truly phenominal people who have made history, herstory...

Nor do I claim to be anything other than a flawed human being.

Note to self: It ain't that deep. Not always, anyway.

wednesday rant

I used to have nightmares that my hands were being chopped off. So you can imagine my horror when I was trying to be a good girl and learn my history (since I seem to have been radically unschooled in certain areas, despite the fact that I went to graduate school) and I learned about how Columbus chopped off the hands of his slaves--the American Indians who had been so welcoming--when they didn't meet their duty of finding enough gold.

Cheery reading for a subway--Jeez!! I wanted to yell to everyone on the A train what I was reading. "Did you know that Columbus was evil?" But alas, I didn't. I remember when I learned about the horrors of factory farming, I also wanted to tell everyone I knew (and in fact, I try to do just that).

What is the difference between Indians being enslaved and having their hands chopped off, and factory farmed birds being enslaved and having their toes and beaks chopped off?

What is most staggering is how short it has all been. New York City, for example, is 350 years old--that's only 4 lifetimes, potentially. Much like the country, we are also a city that was built on theft and discrimination. And oh how history repeats itself.

Yet I have hope knowing that people are capable of change, and in many respects, we are all fairly new inhabitants to this world. So maybe we are still trying to figure it out. Maybe there's hope yet.

I don't believe that people are inherently bad--I like to believe they are good. I'm not *that* jaded. And I want very much to live my life with a greater purpose, as opposed to only happiness being the core of my existence. During the process, I'd like to savor the happiness that comes. But that's not the point. It's not my point anyway.

Please don't misinterpret this as me being depressed or sour. I don't feel I am either. Well, maybe that's not true...maybe I'm a little of each. But I'm also optimistic (that's what my doorman tells me). And I'm funny (that's my shrink says).