I started this blog because when I write I think clearly. And I felt like some clear thinking was in order because my thoughts and feelings were all getting muddled together with playdates, errands, and day to day life so part of me that I used to have a firm grasp on was slipping away in the everyday murk.
Plus there were topics I wanted to explore that you totally can’t bring up in everyday life. You can’t just walk up to someone at a party and go, “Hey. So. I found this clip of Dan Savage giving relationship advice about putting up with your partner’s faults and it kind of reminds me of Ozzy and Harriet but, you know, more gay friendly and with lots of swearing. It’s hard to put my finger on it. You know what I mean? Anyway… how are you liking the shrimp puffs?”
So I’ve gone with blogging instead of alienating real life acquaintances.
Only I feel like I’m not writing the Big Things, I’m just writing tangential posts about sexually confused peacocks, miraculously unfucked with sea turtles, and cats on prozac. Which I’m fine with but now I really feel I should get back to some meatier stuff.
However that’s not going to happen right now because today we drove past this:
Now clearly thinking about anything besides, “Why is that zebra there?” is impossible. I’m all for zebra conservation and everything but I don’t really get how having a lone zebra hanging out with a bunch of donkeys by the side of the highway helps with that. And zebras aren’t domesticated so it’s not like the zebra is helping out around the farm. All the zebra can do is stand there and look stripey.
But maybe whoever owns that ranch is just super into zebras so the presence of real live stripey-ness is reward enough.
Then I saw this on the menu at the place we’re going for date night tonight:
SAFARI SCHNITZELA thin antelope filet, battered with egg and light bread crumbs, sauteed with olive oil, and served with lemon caper sauce…
Antelope is kind of like venison and venison can be pretty fantastic restaurant fare. And zebras are kind of like horses. Horses fall into the “pet” category like cats and dogs where, yeah, technically we *could* eat them but who wants to be that asshole who chowed down on Garfield and Old Yeller garnished with some crispy My Little Ponies?
But you know how sometimes you find a bug crawling around on your arm and then for the rest of the day every time you feel anything brush your arm you’re like, “OMG! IT’S A BUG!”?
You know it doesn’t make sense because it’s a bug, not an FBI tail, and anyway if another bug landed on your arm so what? It’s not like the first bug landing left you emotionally and physically crippled. But still you keep thinking about the bug and you’re vaguely unsettled.
I feel kind of like that right now. Why? Because the Garfield-Old Yeller-My Litte Pony analogy is flawed. People are *totally* cool with eating Wilbur, Bambi, all of the Little Mermaid’s buddies, and the entire cast of Barnyard. Limits to what people will or won’t eat aren’t really all that logical and easy to categorize.
I’m sure the restaurant just calls it “Safari Schnitzel” because of the antelope. But now I’ve got a mental image of the occasional “very special safari delivery” for private tastings where patrons get to leave with a souvenir pair of authentically stripey shoes.
So I really hope that zebra’s purpose is just to stand there and look stripey for some eccentric rich person.