competitive religion

"Are you going to turn Quaker?" I asked Ming.  "Do you need another religion?"

He looked at me from over the newspapery newsletter he held in his hands.

"If you had three religions, and I only had two religions, you would be winning," I said.

"I would be what?" he asked, turning pages.

"You would be winning," I said.  "In the religion competition."

Later I was trying to learn about inflammation.  I was trying to understand--is this a vague hippie thing, or a real thing, or what?

Don't get me wrong--I love hippies.  Hippies are my people.  But asking hippies for health advice can be dangerous, you have to admit.

I was looking online--wow, that was dangerous too.  One thing I read was listing foods for an anti-inflammatory diet, and one of the foods was pasta, which I'm supposed to cook till al dente.  I'm like--"What?  You're saying pasta is better for me, if I cook it less?  Who are these people?  Why should I believe anything they say?!"

So I was telling Ming that, and he said I could swing the other way, and I was like--"I don't want to listen to a bunch of hicks either!  They're going to be all--Eat beef!  It'll heal you!"  Then I was laughing a lot.  "Eat lard!  Eat a jar of lard!"

Probably the laughing is what will heal me.  I was telling Ming, hippies giving you nutritional advice would tell you to strap a crystal in your belly button.  Ming didn't smile.  I accused him of having crystals in his belly button.

In my imagination it's a pretty amethyst, held in by a strap of hemp.

R was pulling weeds--I noticed the weeds were rocket.  I went outside and told him, it's like a mustard.  Like a wild arugula.  He ate a leaf.  I ate one too--it was tasty.  It wasn't bitter.  It wasn't too peppery.  It was good.

This year, rocket is growing everywhere--a green carpet by the laundry room with airy yellow flowers.  Ming said, "You're a rocket scientist."  I said no.

I would be a salad scientist.  Salad is complicated.  What is salad?  People think it's "healthy."  But I think it's any cold food, that's not a sandwich or dessert, that has bits of foods mixed together.  Maybe in a dressing.  And dressing can be the worst thing in the world.

Maybe I should get a Master's degree in salad.  If I wanted to be a rocket scientist, I would need a PhD in salad.  Well, I don't want to be in school that long.