BOOK REPORT - The Hot Zone, or Why You Shouldn't Punch a Monkey

my sincerest apologies to all those who have come down with the newest strain of swine - cow - turducken influenza. contagious life threatening viruses are nothing to balk at. i would know. i just read The Hot Zone by Richard Preston.

the Hot Zone is not a book i would recommend to hypochondriacks (uh, sp? someone sneezed on my dictionary. . .). wait, on second thought, it is the perfect book for us. yes, it describes possibly the world's most heinous way to die via blood born pathogen in super gory detail, but it also.... i lost my train of thought. perhaps i was too busy reliving the horror that is having your insides liquify over the course of one week causing you, poor victim, to 'bleed out,' to put it nicely (follow your imagination, then go a step or two further, yup, that's 'bleeding out'). this book is every bit as terrifying as the quote on the cover says it is. and by terrifying, i mean queasy inducing, fear implanting, strong urge to disinfect my entire body making. 

pretty much i read the first horrific chapter that describes what exactly ebola and it's viral kissing cousins do to your body, asked god why on earth would he(sp?) put this book in my hands let alone let it be filed in the nonfiction section, then proceeded to block out everything else in my life as i raced to the final page to see if all of humanity was spared a global pandemic. good news, (spoiler alert!) most of us lived. bad news, now i have the knowledge of ebola squirming around in my brain. great. but wait, this might just be good news (uh, the book i read before was the Dali Lama's Art of Happiness). see, now that i know Ebola is hiding out there, it makes everything else i am scared of seem, to quote the book totally out of context, 'like child's play.' the continuum of all that can be contracted has doubled, no quadruped, no extended far beyond the previous limits of my imagination. suddenly, herpes doesn't seem so bad.

ebola, on the other hand, is indescribably bad. actually, that's a lie, Mr. Preston did a fine job of describing just. how. bad. it. is. such that i now never want to set foot in Africa. and god(sp?) forbid if you ever get a headache around me cuz i'm gonna assume the worst and quarantine you to the nearest death hut where you can 'bleed out' with your kind and the poor woman who was stuck in with you sickos cuz non ebola infested people thought she had it but really it was only bad malaria. oops. 

it did help, a little, to relive my slightly unwarranted fears, to know that you pretty much have to play bloody knuckles with a sick monkey in Zaire in order to get it. that is, until i read the part about the airborne strains of Ebola found stateside. and that, due to advances in modern technology, there are now these things called airplanes that can deliver these little pathogenic packages to pretty much anywhere in the world in less than 24 hours. beat that, fedex. 

so finally, when i come to terms with the remote possibility that i could shit out my innards a mere seven days after contact with the invisible menace, along comes this new epidemical fad from mexico/land of my favorite foods. swine influenza. the fact that i don't work on a farm/in a butcher shop where i would come in contact with said animals is helpful. vegetarians/practicing jews will have the last laugh. that is, until one of you heathens/heathens sneeze in our general direction.

por favor and for our sake, cover your mouth when you sneeze/cough/vomit up your spleen. muchas gracias.

mexican breakfast, part 1

i am a bit of a foodie (or gastronome, if you prefer. i do not). 

i have a grave appreciation for many meals (mexican fare, mediterranean, raw honey). and a dire aversion to others (red meats, cheeses, hot chocolate*). 

mexicany food being top favorite, i ended up with a few leftovers from my birthday dinner (hello 30's, nice to meet you). which means i will be eating beans and rice and tortillas for B/L/D (breakfast lunch dinner) for the next week. this is awesome news to me. cuz really, aside from cereal (more on that in a later blog), my stomach usually defaults to asking for a burrito of some kind or other.

i'm on some sort of half assed quest to find a good mexican food joint near by where i live. or at the very least, somewhere convenient. and cheap. i do like Bimbo's. cept it feels really weird to me being in a mexican restaurant and being the only person who is even remotely hispanic. i mean, i like the food there (sunflower seeds? yum!) and the decor, and it's hip and cool, but for a mexican place, it's not very mexicano. jesus, even the dishwasher is white.  you have to be really trying to make that happen. 

so my next venture will not be the old kfc turned burrito place by cal anderson, cuz that place is haunted by greasy chicken parts, but what once was jalisco's but now is called el farol off 15th. i am looking forward to it. i can even maybe turn a blind olifactory sense to the heavy tortilla chip smell that is sure to permeate my entire wardrobe/being. anything to hear that not from here accent (so familiar that sometimes i cant hear it), listen to the tejano music coming from the kitchen, interact with people whose hair is naturally that black who stare at me and wonder why this girl would chose to have such short hair when everybody knows that the men like women with long hair and why do you scar your body with those tattoos? uh, i just wanted some beans and rice. . . 

*for reals. i don't like hot chocolate. chocolate soy milk, yes. chocolate bars, awesome. mochas when i was a coffee drinker, hell yeah. but hot cocoa? pass. i got better things to do. 

Hondrans...in Belltown!

too bad the phrase 'drug ring busted' has to be inserted in there for it to make the cover of the Sunday Seattle Times. oh, my mother's people, why are you painted in such bad light? at first glance, my heart beat quickened with excitement to see in larger than 12point times new roman font the country of half my origin right there on the cover of seattle's only remaining corporate newspaper right next to some hypey commentary on nickels political future. but then i calmed myself down long enough to read the whole headline. boo. way to take the flappity flap out of my stand proud flag waving session.
i read the whole article on line just a minute ago. well, illegal nature of activities aside, i can state with some amount of bittersweet pride that Hondurans are well organized. and stick together. they really had their shit down. their only weakness, as it turned out, was letting their guard down, thinking that 'the man' had no idea. come on gente, were we absente the first dia of clase? what is the primero cosa that they teach you? never trust el gringo. that and you are always suspect. even si tienes nada pero good intentions, you are being watched, hombre.

allow me to introduce yourself to my friend, Jufran.

over the past 12ish years of my life, i have been making conscious, aggregating decisions about what exactly i put in my digestive system, or rather, to make the list a little shorter, what i do not send down the GI tract. it started with milk and my dad's choice to buy non dairy alternatives. (tho how a person can go from non fat cow milk to low fat rice milk without batting a taste bud is beyond me. that is the largest, unsmooth leap a newly realized lactose intolerant person can make. let me unsolicitously (um, the spell check didn't like this word and suggested 'incestuously' instead. . .) advice you that if you are making the change to non dairy, you best just give up the idea of ever having a refreshing glass of milk or gooey grilled cheese sammich, cuz non dairy alternatives are just that, alternatives - not straight up replacements. cheese especially. they can put a woman in an adult diaper and have her drive cross country but they cant make soy melt like a curdded lactate byproduct. so if you want a refreshing glass of non milk milk, go with enriched soy milk. once you get over the initial well, this isnt what i thought it was going to be, it's actually quite good. save the low fat rice milk for a few years down the road.) and then his option to opt out of red meat, then other meat, then fish. i followed suit, less out of compassionate conviction for los animales and more cuz well, that was what was in the house to eat and im hungry.  eventually, i learned more about animal rights/cruel food animal practices, environmental concerns, health issues (which is what prompted my father to start ixnaying meat and dairy in the first place), sustainability practices, local farming, etc etc etc. i went vegetarian late high school, hit veganism in college, road that bus for a while, then started eating local eggs, local goat cheese (them gots smaller sized proteins than regular milk, makes it ok on the estomago)(i first learned that fact, and others that have nothing to do with dairy, from reading Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. muchas gracias, mr robbins.) and the occasional fish. (tho, upon reviewing the current fish population to fish demand ratio, maybe i don't really need to eat them raw on rice wrapped in nori. . .maybs i will  leave my portion to someone who lives on an island and has no other option for protein intake. . .). 

and my diet keeps changing. mostly for the better. i try and make adjustments every year, eating less wheat, trying futilely to cut back on sugar, stop drinking any kind of soda. more recently i chose to eliminate High Fructose Corn Syrup. pretty easy, despite it's unsettlingly ubiquitous presence in processed food.  mostly because i don't really eat processed foods in general. but i did find it some of my favorite ginger ale sodas. and in random bread products. and juice. all things that i could easily get myself to side step while roaming the aisles of the grocery store (come to think of it, i think the Co-Op doesn't actually carry anything with HFCS. . . that makes it a little easier). the one and only huge disappointment/blow to my diet came about two years ago when i was having a belated brunch at Crave (RIP) with my ex. mid conversation, i casually glanced over at the bottle of ketchup that stood next to my morning mimosa and it was like the little black type jumped out and bit me - high fructose corn syrup. what?! no!! i love ketchup! i had already slathered my eggs (yet another food habit i picked up from my dad) and potatoes with it, i had already downed the hatch several tablespoons worth. i love ketchup. sigh, oh well. i guess there is organic ketchup. but guess what? it's not the same! i've never liked healthy ketchup cuz it be missing the one ingredient that makes it taste authentically ketchuppy. . . 

i mourned the loss of this condiment for some time. that is, until if found Jufran. for those of you unfamiliar with the number one condiment in my world, allow me to introduce you. Jufran not only looks like ketchup, but it kinda tastes like it. or rather, the differences in flavor are such that you are so pleasantly distracted that you don't even remember missing ketchup in the first place. it is all the things ketchup never dreamed it could be therefore never was. it is like sweet, spicy ketchup. made of bananas. with a slightly more gelatinous consistency. that (oddly) needs no refrigeration. it comes from the same Philippino genius factory that invented Magic Mic. it is like $1.75 in stores in china town. it comes in mild and hot. it rules. on eggs. on potatoes. on chips. on plantains. on beans. on rice. it makes me think of wait, ketcup who? exactly. 

now if you will excuse me, i have a breakfast date with senora Jufran.

(blog's not letting me post a photo, but one is coming, rest assured)

3 more cheers for advances in medicinal technology

while ibuprofren isn't exactly a cutting edge laboratory discovery, it is a note worthy standby. again, i would rather focus my efforts and attention on prophylactics, trying to prevent the need for tablets from ever coming up. but things happen. like aforementioned allergies. and simultaneously falling off of and onto your bike whilst attempting a track stand on a sloped cobblestone road.
and yes, i do agree with my fellow human being who happened to be crossing on the same pike street i was getting a close and personal look at, that you should not drink and bike. but i do believe, kind sir, that you have mistaken my temporary combination of bravado and unbalance for common evening inebriation. fine line, i know.
for those of you who do not enjoy the feel of self propelled wind thru the loose hairs that stick out thru your bike helmet, allow me to describe in brief detail one of the very few drawbacks of this lifestyle choice. falling off/on top of your bike feels like getting hit with a steel pipe. oh, wait, that's because that is exactly what it is.
so here i am, several bruises, a swollen ankle and two bus rides later feeling antsy from lack of forward movement and slowly, slowly, working on getting over my difficulty of swallowing pills, two by two. that is, until i read the small print on the label of said generic drug instructing me, person affected by any myriad of symptoms, to take one every 4 to 6 hours as said symptoms persist. well alright then, one by one it is.

3 cheers to long ago advances in western medicinal technology

speaking of allergies, wtf. my world is collapsing in on itself - a direct result of the vicious battle (my body vs pollen) that has been waging for the last few days that reached a fever pitch this afternoon. jehus h christ i almost sneezed out a kidney.  

i was in new york last week and was telling my friend, yeah, i didn't have any allergy problems there, it was amazing. to which she deftly pointed out, that's cuz there are no trees in new york city. point taken. here on the west coast, things be different.  a day or two of rain followed by bright sunshine kicked everything and its amebic version of a mother into motion.  for those of you blessed with bodies who dont decide one day that (insert innocuous species) is now your mortal enemy, consider yourselves lucky.  allergies are dreadful. you know that feeling like you are about to sneeze? take that, multiply by always, add what amounts to a heinous, watery sinus rash, put a bucket (or giant zip lock baggie) over your head and walk around, that is pretty close to what it feels like. oh, and get no sleep the night before. i'm staring at the beautiful blooming trees that surround my house, my feather comforter, the adorable BABYSEAL asleep atop it, and my vision is intercepted by a circle big enough to encompass object of my gaze in a thick red halo with a giant diagonal line across it. get. away. from. my. face. 

today, i finally, after a whole day's worth of violently sneezing, finally, after years of suffering in all my life of residing in the pacific northwest come spring time, finally, broke down at 8pm and walked to the drug store to find some quick (as in not 3-4 months worth of preventative acupuncture) relief. i bot two kinds. on sale. 

. . . ok, i was gonna go on to talk about how, on principal, i generally tend to use nonwestern medicinal fix its. (uh, can you believe both my parents are nurses? and no, it's not some rebellious act. that would be taking things too far/silly). and how i would rather have puffy red eyes sitting pretty above a nose that never stops water making than take over the counter meds. but that today was exception and maybe there is something to the OTC, as long as you don't abuse it. but right now it feels like my fingers are disconnecting from my hands i took the super allergy kind that didn't say *non drowsy*. must not operate heavy machinery.  i will sleep well tonight, there is no question about that .  i , have ,.nothing else. my eyelids weight a thousand pounds. there is an invisible axis that goes straight out from my solar plexus that my chair is slowly spinning on, the computer spins opposite. let us hope i wake up on time in the am. good bye cruel world.

on account of others, including the full moon.

today i ate meat. on accident. it was hiding ever so quietly in the vat of beans that sat between the mango salsa and the tray of white rice. a spread of brazilian fare to make the visiting brazilian dance company feel at home.  i thought i smelt meat, but i had the garden vegan sausage in the bottom of my bowl, it was a subtle, pleasant aroma, therefore easy to dismiss. as i went up to get seconds, i overheard coworker who moments ago saw me go to the bean vat and partake say, 'yeah the beans look really good, too bad they have meat in them or i would eat them.'  so that's why they tasted so good. 

last summer i had 'spinach dumplings' with a friend and the secret ingredient was pork. didn't have the gusto to return it. conveying my self imposed dietary restrictions to native english speakers is tedious enough. i think that, even with the proper asiatic vernacular, my discourse on what i consider to be food would have been meet with a blank stare. i finished my dumplings in silence. with extra fish sauce.

the fall before that, i was at some opening to a play. there was a buffet in the lobby: many unmarked, unmanned goodies. i (thought i) could identify a few's ingredients by sight, one of which was a bruchetta (sp? it's late. . .) style appetizer that had bean paste on it. they were the tastiest thing there. i went back for more. and then more. and ok, maybe one more. the last one i ate, i bit into something the texture of bone. yes, a small bone. oops. well, that will be the last one for me.

i read this short story once, about a newly wed couple, traditional in their ways. they were very open and loving. the husband had but one request, that the wife never cook or feed him red meat. no concrete answer was given as to why, but perhaps some squirrelly replies involvin phrases such as 'this is how i grew up,' 'my mother's dying request,' followed by an adamant 'just do this, or else.' the wife let it go and focused on the good of their relationship, which was everything but this culinary taboo.  days, weeks, months go by, wife is out shopping, comes across a nice cut of red meat/(insert proper cut of meat verbiage, this veggie is out of the loop) and decides to why the heck not surprise her hubby and make him something containing the forbidden protein. so home she went and prepared a delicious soup, disguising the meat texture with fine chopping, it's flavor with finer spices. husband comes home. they sit to eat. throughout the meal, he tries to get her to tell her what is in the soup that he is enjoying more than any other meal she has cooked for him in their entire abbreviated time of marriage. she teases and keeps him guessing until finally, his bowl is empty, his curiosity is peaked, she drops the bomb and as it lands the smile from his face falls and he stares with horrific disbelief. turns out the guy was allergic to red meat. and by allergic, i mean that the consumption of red meat triggered an irreversible process where in he morphed into a werewolf.  oops. 

moral of the story is: A. make lllittle labels if you bring/make/serve food at a potluck style event. as a courtesy to those with dietary restrictions and allergies. B. if you are strictdfaffse -(woops, 'scuse me, dont know what that was) vegan/veggie, best not just go sampling the spread all willy nilly. (unless it's free, of course) and C. when @9 93 (* Hehisf  (darn, that is weird, it's like i lost control of my hand just there) someone says they don't want to eat whatever food, they probs have HU(eJKjf (oh my, i'm feeling a little woozy, must have been something i ate...) a good rrrrrrreason.  rrrrrrraaaBANGaaaaaaaahhhhhggggggghhhhhh CRASH

AGHGHHHARARRR H GAG aaaoooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(exits room as wear wolf)