Ich bin had quite a weekend. In chronological order:
--I relished the reunion with my freshman year college roommate, who I hadn't seen in 7 years. Turns out she is as gentle and wise today as she was back then. It was a tremendous pleasure to see her again.
--Mr. A and I savored a frenzied flamenco show in L.A. at El Cid, in the course of an evening he exquisitely organized and executed.
--I had piping hot coffee thrown in my face and eye in the process of an exuberant hug between two exuberant dudes. Worry not: after an hour of stinging and a phone consult with a nurse I'm none the worse for it.
--My fam rang in my sister's 25th birthday, for which she flew down from Seattle. Every time she has a birthday I feel she's catching up to me -- until I remember I'm a year older, too.
--I observed a heated debate between an aspiring vegan and a carnivore, with, er, meaty repartees that included: "Show me one piece of evidence that animals have given their consent to be slaughtered." "You show me one piece of evidence that they have not." And "Who would you rather execute, a chicken or a human?" "I would take the bullet myself."
Which brings me to the subject of the asking I had set out to write about before this detour: meat.
Onward.
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