For What Ails You

I may still be new to the vegan lifestyle but I've always been into super hipster beverages.

Funny that we, the American youth, think these cultural representations so novel that we turn them into another form of entertainment.  What may seem so normal to other nations we have turned into curiosity- the hipster subculture celebrates not the rich heritage, or historical import of such things, but the novelty.  As soon as others jump on the band wagon, the novelty is lost and the herd moves on.

But I digress. I was talking about super vegan hipster drinks, remember?

So today I have added Tumeric Tea to my list of exotic drinks I've made/tried.  It didn't turn out great, because I searched around for a recipe and, not finding one that suited me exactly, simply went about willy-nilly.  That is to say, I sorta made it up as I went along.

It wasn't bad, only I added too much soy milk and it overpowered the tumeric-ginger concentrate.  I also think I added too much cinnamon-but now my house smells warm and spicy and gorgeous.

See? You just gotta look at the bright side.

For those of you that aren't familiar with Tumeric Tea, it is also called by any combination of "tumeric", "golden", "tea",and "milk".  Tumeric itself is an orange-ish root that somewhat resembles ginger.  It is hailed as the Queen of Spices and has been used for centuries for culinary, beauty, and medicinal purposes.  Used principally in the East, I know it from the salves and tinctures my grandmother uses to counter inflammation and arthritis.  It is said to help prevent colon cancer and cystic fibrosis, as well as a number of other ailments.

But be warned: fresh tumeric is hell to scrub out. It literally stains golden everything it touches.  I bet King Midas had tumeric for hands. (haha!)

I guess I'll include the recipe, even though calling it that is a bit of a stretch. 

Half a little knob of fresh tumeric
A quarter of a bigger knob of ginger
2 tsp of cinnamon (I would use less)
a pinch and a half of nutmeg
lemon zest
2 cups of water
some kind of sweetener, to taste (I used yellow rock sugar to keep with the Eastern Asian feel)
some kind of milk (I used soy...with an overly liberal hand)

*pro tip!* To skin the ginger and tumeric, use the side of a spoon and hold the knob against the palm of your hand

I threw everything in a pot except the milk and simmered on medium heat for, like, 13 minutes.  It smelled pretty divine, if you must know.  Anyhow, next I strained it carefully (not really- I made a huge mess) and stirred in an entire batch of soy milk.  That's around 4 cups.  Huuuuge mistake.  The spicy flavor was masked by the taste of soy milk, so please add less of your milk of choice.  I think coconut milk would be nice.

recently discovered snapchat, so...

I poured the rest into a big bottle and I'm bringing it with me to practice.  Just to shake things up, you know?

Label Not

What is a slut?

She that bares her skin to the sun and wind- is she a slut?

She that gives her body to too many because she is afraid to give her heart- is she a slut?

She that defies the monolithic scream of her peers, society's shriek of judgement...

She that wears jewels and baubles in her face like stars in the nighttime sky...

She that walks with her head high and believes herself beautiful...

Is she a slut?

But what about she that watches these women pass through narrowed eyes, measuring their worth with the length of their hemlines?

What about She that must build her castle upon a mound of hearts she broke? 

What about she that prays to a Lord she does not believe, in His halls that she does not revere, so that she may walk above others?

What about she whose unmarked skin masks a soul rent with blackness?

Whose smile is like the heavens themselves opened up.

Whose teachers adore her.

Whose finger wears a shiny ring she believes to hold her honor.

Is she an angel?

My Own "Cahiers de Doléances"

I'm not a very confrontational person.  Really, I'm not.  Sure, I  spend an awful lot of time thinking up all sorts of comebacks and snappy replies, but I rarely ever say them.  I also carry on a lot of imaginary conversations with people I really wish I could just scream at.

So I guess that's enough background.  Without further ado, I would like to introduce you to Mr. S.  Mr. S is our substitute while our actual AP US History teacher is out on maternity leave. 

Lord how I miss her.

In the beginning, I actually liked this guy.  I mean, he's the soft, mousy sort, but he seemed genuinely interested in American history, and I took the long-winded lectures as an indication of his passion for teaching.  It's pretty hard to hate someone like that-you just get to feeling bad for a guy with suspenders and a pretty sad-looking combover.  Anyhow, he seemed nice enough.  Well read, too-I enjoyed his lectures on the Vietnam War, and the attack on neutral Cambodia.

This, however, is the tale of how my impression of this Mr. S has changed.  

We were reading JD Salinger's Catcher in the Rye, as highschoolers do, and naturally, we were regularly quizzed on each night's reading.  By this time, I along with the rest of my long-suffering classmates, was growing increasingly less tolerant of Mr. S' propensity for wasting class time with irrelevent rambling and vague evasions to our questions.  In short, I was beginning to see him as less of a boring but essentially well-meaning school teacher and more as a fusspot with unresolved childhood issues that he so often hinted at.  Darkly.  In class.  To a roomful of adolescents. 

Now, I have APUSH first period and second period I have art.  One day, halfway through coloring pictures of figs, I get this text from my friend.  It didn't make a whole lot of sense-something about a pass to the office, and academic dishonesty.  After a bunch of "wtf are you saying?" 's and a couple "wait, for real?" 's I finally got the gist of it.  Mr. S had called my entire table up to the office for academic dishonesty, because he suspected that we cheated on a couple of 20ish point reading quizzes.  My whole table.  

But this is highschool-things like this happen.  So I stayed calm-or as calm as I was capable under the circumstances-and went directly to Mr. S during lunch.  I asked him what was going on.  He said he didnt have an answer for me.  I said I was told that my entire table got called to the office for academic dishonesty.  He said the term "academic dishonesty" was "never specifically mentioned".  I asked if I was in trouble, having never recieved a summons myself.  He said "I dunno...are you?"  I told him I only wanted to know what was going on.  He said that it would be ethically...er...wrong for him to disclose what took place between himself and other students. "Hearsay", he called it.  

Can you believe this guy?  This was over a week ago and although my table was interviewed by himself, the vice principal, and at least one counselor, we all still have zeroes in for 2 quizzes and a notes check.  That really kills me.  How does one cheat on notes? You literally copy phrases from a book. 

No, I'm wrong.  What really kills me is that he wont give any of us a straight answer.  He never even told me, or openly accused me of anything.  He said that our quizzes are still "under review", which is why, with less than a week of school left, we have zeroes puncturing our grades.  In response to my request for clarification, he replied, after a brief pause: "That is my final statement".  Oh yeah? I'm pretty sure that was your ONLY statement.

I don't mind telling you that even with three zeroes, I still have a pretty level A in the class-the grade doesn't really matter to me that much.  What matters is the way this man has been treating all of us.  I worked long and hard for this grade-who are you to take it all away without being man enough to tell me so to my face?  Who are you to dodge my questions and withhold points? Who gave you the authority to ignore the administration at a school you are not a part of? 

My friend is set to be valedictorian.  But this dropped her grade to a B-this could jeopordize that. Two of us are no longer passing.

A wise man once said that one can judge the strength of a man's character not by how he treats his superiors, but by how he treats those he percieves to be beneath him.  I doubt this is about us anymore.  We are only pawns, disposable, to be used as balm for his bruised ego.  I'm about 80% sure he has some sort of superiority complex or something.  

I don't appreciate being called a cheater.  Even worse, I don't appreciate being treated like I don't even deserve being told so.  This, Mr. S, speaks volumes more about you than it ever will about any of us. 

The whole things makes me boil over.  I think of insults and blunt objects I wish I could hurl at his flabby, supercilious face, and I swear I can feel my blood pressure rising.  

I had a high enough grade so that I could have failed every single assignment for the rest of the year and maintain an A.  Why would I cheat? 

Sarah was in line for valedictorian, with a pretty solid A herself.  Why would she cheat?

Brynn needs a sparkling record to stay on her cheer squad.  Why would she cheat?

Why would we cheat?  And for what, a measly collection of homework points? 

But forget about that.  First, grow up and maybe own up to your own wild accusations and stand before us, eye to eye.  Only cowards hide between evasions and lofty airs.  

Sorry, but I figured it was about time I went about writing this down.  Heck, I think I might email this to my councilor.  Depends on how much Mr. S annoys me tomorrow.