And the Top Reason to Be (Mostly) Vegan...

...is your mouth can't be inseminated by animals you don't eat!

Apparently some woman in South Korea got a mouthful of zombie squid sperm when she bit into a half-cooked squid with killer survival instincts. From ABC News:

Here's one not for the squeamish, from South Korea: A semi-cooked squid inseminated a woman's mouth, according to a paper published in the Journal of Parasitology. After experiencing "severe pain in her oral cavity" when she bit into her seafood, the woman spit out her meal but continued to feel a lingering "pricking" sensation.

Doctors found that the 63-year-old woman had "small, white spindle-shaped bug-like organisms" lodged in the mucous membrane of her tongue, cheek and gums.

Despite having been boiled, the dead squid's live spermatophores, or sperm sacks, were alive and penetrated the woman's mouth. The sacks, which contain ejaculatory devices, forcefully release sperm and a "cement" that attaches the sperm to a wall.

Not to worry, calamari lovers. Most Western-world squid preparation removes the squid's internal organs, leaving only its muscle for eaters to enjoy, according to Danna Staaf, who writes the blogSquid a Day, published on Science 2.0.

Seafood, anyone? (Full story is here)

Darwin would be so proud.

Friday Night Blues

Friday night's commute is always the time I use to process the week.  It's a chance to digest what I just went through to allow myself to relax over the weekend before getting back in the trenches on Monday.  Two trains and a bus give me plenty of opportunity (hopefully) to separate work from life and be in good spirits as I walk through the door at home.

After a particularly draining week, I found myself succumbing to a strong malaise, the looming start of a new week overshadowing the brief respite of the weekend.  On the bus for the last leg of the commute, I tried to pull the mental health Hail Mary of convincing myself that I was tired and everything would be looking up after a good night's sleep.  That train of thought failed, as such desperate attempts often do.

As I stepped off the bus, I was in close proximity to Winthrop House of Pizza.  Wouldn't a buffalo chicken sandwich make you feel better? a voice whispered in my head, one I'm all too familiar with.  I could just walk across the street and chat with Jimmie, the amicable owner of WHoP, shooting the shit about what video games we were playing as the chicken deep-fried.  I could taste all the nuances of the sandwich as I thought about it, everything from the tang of the hot sauce to the oh-so-slightly burned edges of the roll.  There would of course be a cold Coke to wash it down.  Wouldn't I feel better if I just let myself enjoy that?

For a brief moment, it seemed like the best fucking idea in the world, perhaps the best idea I ever had.  I was an addict having an addict's moment, believing that continued self-destruction is somehow the solution to all the other problems in life. As if, after the last bite and last sip, everything that was bothering me would be forgotten.

I'd like to pretend that I found some noble reserve of self control at that moment. In truth, I was overcome by such self-loathing at the notion of once again becoming a victim of destructive impulses and short-term relief that some instinctive drive below my cognitive process slammed down on the desire like a sprung trap. I would walk home and put together a healthy vegan meal from the leftovers in the fridge.

Frankly, I was surprised. I had no answer for the impulse, no reasoning to curtail it.  There was just something deep within me that was just so fucking sick of the same rituals of self-destruction, of living by impulse instead of purpose, that I had no choice but to do the right thing.

A buffalo chicken sandwich is not damnation, nor is a veggie burger salvation.  But the summation of our actions, and whether they're guided by impulse or purpose, will define our fates.  I want to start to control mine instead of being the victim of the seductive whispers of malaise.  Bad days do not have to become bad lives.

Now, time to enjoy that veggie burger.

Back from the Meatapocalypse

Just back from a business trip to Dallas.  I knew BBQ options would proliferate the menus that would be available.  First place we stopped was a Mexican restaurant at the hotel, and while I could have strung together a skimpy vegetarian meal, I gave up and gave in to the meatapocalypse.  The low point was going to a BBQ joint and getting a Fred-Flinstone-sized rack of ribs.  I felt like Homer Simpson as he ate Pinchy.

Now I'm  finally back home, and have a couple extra pounds to show for my excesses.  I had no idea how I'd feel the first morning, but then it came time to eat I reached for the pinto beans my loving wife had left for me as she went on her own trip, dousing then with delicious salsa.  Now I'm soaking some chickpeas so I can make veggie burgers for my lunches this week.  It looks like the meatapocalypse has caused no irreparable damage.

This experience has reinforced the feasibility of the "flexigan" approach Cathy and I have decided to take: keep a vegan home, but go omnivore when eating out.  This will reduce our meat consumption by a huge amount, but also prevent backsliding from trying to be 100% vegan all the time, fighting the tendency of animal products to creep into so many menu items. It's a lot easier to have an occasional piece of meat to help fight urges as part of a plan than to avoid every giving into a single piece of meat that could be the beginning of another meatapocalypse.

So any vegans or vegetarians who are frothing at the mouth at "flex" terminology, remember that that qualifier implies less than veganism, and if someone starts thinking that you eat meat because of hearing that nomenclature, that says more about them than the term (and it's also a lot easier for me to say flexigan than, "I'm an omnivore that keeps a vegan home," which I'd gladly say except that I'm lazy and everyone is impatient).  The thing to celebrate is that a flexigan is someone who is actively trying to use fewer animal products, and needs support to keep improving on that goal.  Perhaps a day will come when I can resist BBQ in Texas (the holy grail of being vegan), but until that day comes, I'm very proud to be back on the horse (instead of wanting to eat it) now that I'm home.