I’ve been vegan at home and vegetarian on the road since May, so … four months now.
Vegetarian is easy, but vegan is harder, because there aren’t many pre-packaged vegan TV dinners, and I’m a lazy slob who doesn’t want to cook.
And I mean it. Don’t send “easy” recipes, because I am not going to measure this much of that and that much of this and wash eleven dishes afterward, just to have one meal for one person. That’s cooking, man, and I don’t want to cook.
Bought some unMeat™, a vegan Spam knockoff, and one of these days I’ll have a fried fake-spam sandwich, but the can’s been in my pantry for weeks and that sandwich ain’t happened yet. See, cutting the fake-spam and oiling the pan and waiting while it sizzles and then flipping the fake-spam and waiting for it to sizzle again — it’ll only take five minutes, but that’s cooking, man, and I don’t want to cook.
Meals at home are sandwiches, maybe with canned, boiled vegetables on the side, or more likely corn chips, or I might take a box of something from the freezer, peel back a corner, and let it rotate in the microwave.
Last night was an especially extravagant supper: I boiled water (!) and dropped frozen squash ravioli into it. That’s as much cooking as I can stand.
Of course, the water and the pan and me sitting on a squeaky chair made sound in the kitchen, which signaled my talkative flatmate Dean to come out of his room and babble at me. He read the ravioli bag, out loud. He looked over my shoulder as I stirred the pot. He asked what sauce I’d be adding, and I didn’t answer because Fuck off, Dean, but the ravioli is fine with no sauce at all. And no butter, cuz I’m vegan at home.
Then I drained the ravioli and escaped into my room to eat, straight from the pot. It was good, and I recommend Bettergoods Butternut Squash Ravioli — reasonably priced, vegan, tastes good.
Halfway through dinner, a flying thing bigger than a gnat but smaller than a housefly circled over the pot and maybe got trapped in an invisible plume of heat rising up (?) cuz it went straight down, vertical & plop, landing on a hot ravioli. The heat or the shock killed the bug, I assume, because it didn’t fly off, didn’t crawl, just laid there, perfectly centered on a ravioli piece, which I stabbed onto my next sporkful.
That bug got chewed and swallowed with the squash and pasta, and in taste or texture it neither added nor subtracted from the ravioli experience. As I swallowed, though, I realized that eating a bug is technically eating meat, and I’m not a meat-eater any more.
It’s a hard habit to break. An addiction. My name is Doug and I’m vegan at home, vegetarian on the road, and now it’s been one day since I ate meat.
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“Orange Man bad” is a sarcastic phrase heard in right-wing circles, mocking opposition to Donald Trump. It’s also a concise, workable, accurate summation of US politics and policies over the past decade.
Orange Man has help from lots of co-conspirator Republicans, but he alone is the most malevolent presence ever seen in American government. His every instinct is theft, violence, cruelty. He lies constantly and about everything. He cannot be reasoned with, and as President he’s surrounded himself with the most deplorable people in the country.
The acknowledgment that any goal Trump pursues is wrong, evil, to be opposed by anyone decent, is simply a truism, self-evident and inarguable.
‘Inarguable’ as in, let’s not talk about it. Others may discuss whether Orange Man is bad or explain how Orange Man is bad, but I’m old, and don’t have life enough left to waste it chatting with idiots, the uninformed or misinformed, or the millions of deplorables. If you don’t already know, or you disagree and maintain that Orange Man isn’t bad, shut the hell up or talk about baseball.
And OK, I’ll take my meds. The restraints won’t be necessary, this time…
(Inspired by and somewhat plagiarized from a thread at Grudgie the Whale’s page.)
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Teetering on the brink has become my normal. Of course, I’ve been mentally teetering for as long as I can remember, but now my physical health teeters, too. I’m old. My knee is shot, and everything else takes turns aching.
But mostly, less and less patience remains for the bullshit of ordinary life — not just all the idiots but even doing the laundry, cleaning my room, taking out the trash. If a shrink could see into my skull I’d be committed, and if any ‘authorities’ could see my bedroom they’d have thiswing of the house condemned. Fuck ’em all, though.
Srsly, fuck ’em all, and fuck the world. I am fairly happy and ain’t harming anyone or planning to, so fuck you, fuck them, fuck ’em all, and leave me alone.
Everyone’s teetering on the brink of insanity, aren’t we? I see it in strangers on the bus or sidewalk, anyone I talk with, and especially all the people I know. Maybe they don’t look crazy, but not looking crazy is just an act.
All of America is barely coping, even (or especially) anyone who seems at ease, comfortably in control of their lives with rewarding friendships and a loving family. Someone somewhere probably fits that description, same as someone somewhere wins every lottery, but the rest of us struggle constantly against our internal and external insecurities in this overworked, underpaid, daily dangerous and horrendously unjust society.
Or, possibly it’s projection, the psychological defense mechanism where you imagine your own foibles and emotions are shared by someone… anyone… everyone. Perhaps I’m the only one so tremendously ill at ease among the millions, billions of shiny, happy humans.
6/24/2026
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