Day 18: Kill Something Day

"So-called Western civilization suppresses our legitimate aggressive impulses. Cast off the chains of narrow morality and stamp out the sad life of a member of some inferior species today: an ant, or perhaps a gnat of some kind. Indulge your dark urges before they overwhelm you. After all, as top Russian anarchist Mikhail Bakunin declared: 'the passion for destruction is also a creative passion...'"

I'm a vegetarian. I don't kill things. When I rip apart a hunk of meat with my incisors and masticate its remains with my molars, I consider it a form of coldblooded murder. But sushi tastes delightful. So eh, what are you gonna do? My friend took me to Kru, one of many overpriced boutique sushi restaurants in Sacramento. I had only been once, normally shunning the $15 rolls on principle, but since I wasn't buying, I agreed wholeheartedly and began to prep my protein-deficient tummy for a feast.

What is America's solution to infuriatingly healthy sushi? Deep fry the shit out of if and then dunk it in sauce. We had the Krazi Cali (a crunchy, garlic cream take on the traditional California Roll), the Tesla (the freshest roll of the bunch, but again smothered in garlic creaminess), and my choice, the Cindy (tuna, snow crab, jalapenos, deep-fried of course). In order to make our Japanese-American meal complete, we doused our wasabi-coated tongues with Sapporos. Then we headed to a neighborhood tavern to extinguish our heartburn with margaritas.

As if this isn't enough carnivore action for one weekend, yesterday I broke out the fly swatter. Sitting at the kitchen table working on the Sunday crossword is my #2 solution to a hangover (#1 being bloody mary brunch), you can imagine my ire when a fly the size and decible of New Orleans during Mardi Gras decided to brunch on our garbage can. Thankfully, we have a fly swatter nearby for just that occasion. This one, however, is battery powered and after pressing a button, can zap prey with the wattage of a nuclear testing site. (It feels similar to a dog's shock collar if you've ever been privy to either---personally, the nerves in my left elbow have never returned after said incidents). And that's that. Fly-free, and left to only the buzz of my ringing hangover. Not a cent of guilt either.