camwyn | Feb. 14th, 2002

Well, today we're into day 2 of my annual test of self-discipline. I live with my parents. My father is the kind of guy who likes to cause trouble or needle you until you either blow up at him or ignore him completely; he does it with a good heart and a smile, and he never means anything bad by it, but it's a ROYAL PAIN IN THE ASS sometimes. I've found that the only way I get to have anything like to acceptance of dietary alteration is by synchronizing it with Lent. (Catholic family. Me, my beliefs fall rather firmly in the direction of other denominations and other religious traditions entirely.) I don't mind him questioning why I might experiment with different dietary restrictions, but I could really do without the 'mmm, fried mush' and Soylent Yellow jokes - and let's not even go into his comparisons of tofu and Spam, or his tendency to compare anything light coloured and vaguely squishy looking to pus. The only thing that even slows the man down is the shield of Lent; it cuts the snotty remarks in half. This year, for the third year in a row, I'm attempting to cut meat out of my diet and remove other things from the list of edibles as well. He only made two stupid comments during last night's dinner (tofu with black bean sauce and sesame seeds, carrots, corn, basmati rice - I wasn't as prepared as I should've been), so I suppose I'm ahead.

Anyway, this year's forty-day set of restrictions: nothing that required an animal to die, and no eating outside of meals. The first rules out anything with gelatin in it, as well as cheeses not marked either kosher or made with vegetable rennet; the second puts the smackdown pretty firmly on all the crap on top of the refrigerator (where my family keeps the chips and crackers). I don't have the fortitude to put these restrictions into place all year 'round, even if I didn't have my father to put up with. I admire people who keep voluntary dietary restrctions, like kashrut. That takes a lot of mindfulness and dedication. I can about manage for forty days out of the year. I don't think I'd want to try more unless I had to. This is the closest I can come to understanding what my friends with food allergies go through, and it also encourages serious consideration. I mean, really - in this country we take our food too much for granted, and we're totally separated most of the time from the source of it all. It's important to give that consideration every so often.

In the meantime it's a real bitch to deal with, because the sickos who established St. Valentine's feast day placed it squarely within spitting distance of Lent something like half the time. Oh well. If I get candy I'll bring it into work and let everyone else have a go at it (it's food outside of meals, plus it's probably got gelatin in). At least it means I don't have to eat the corned beef on St. Patrick's day. I hate corned beef.

Meanwhile, totally different note: what does the marquee tag do?

Today's pulp survival tip is #46: Learn what food from all over the world is supposed to taste and smell like. You'll be prepared when villagers offer you scary dishes, but more importantly, you'll notice when someone slips something weird into your own food, even if you're dining on Klingon bloodworms or whatever in Upper Northeastern Novo-Latvo-Sibirsk.