It was kind of surreal, to say the least, the first time I rounded the corner of Flatbush and 7th in Park Slope, only to see my own giant face, alongside my wife Mariann’s, staring back at me. It’s not as though I didn’t know that a bus ad was going to be there at some point soon, advertising the Our Hen House TV show — a co-production with Brooklyn Independent Media — but it nevertheless floored me to see it in real life.
Photo by Derek Goodwin
The blurb (which our network wrote) talks about how our show is an “energetic talk show” hosted by me and Mariann (the ad calls us “charming” so I have to start working on that), and explains that the show covers a variety of issues as they relate to animal rights, including books, art, and “of course, vegan cuisine.” (We love the “of course” part.)
Photo by Derek Goodwin
It thrills me to no avail that there’s an entire bus ad talking (in a positive way) about animal rights, and pretty much makes me lose consciousness when I remember that the ad is for Our Hen House. Photographer Derek Goodwin took some photos of us hanging out at our bus stop, recently. (Trust me, you’d hang out at your bus stop, too.)
Photo by Derek Goodwin
Photo by Derek Goodwin
Photo by Derek Goodwin
This next one appears to be everyone’s fave (according to Facebook):
Photo by Derek Goodwin
Let me know if you wind up visiting the Our Hen House bus ad in Park Slope! And be sure to tune into Brooklyn Independent Media if you live in NYC, to catch our show on the boob tube, or simply watch it on the internet machine (which seems way easier, though I know a few of you Tivo it, which is cool too).
Mariann and I are lucky enough to be getting a bit more media than just that! Just last week, we did a photo shoot for Rebel Ink Magazine — a popular tattoo magazine that is doing a story on our animal rights themed tattoos. They were also interested in the fact that Mariann got her first tattoo post-60. The morning of the shoot was pretty groovy. We had requested that the makeup artist for our TV show — Kerrie Ann Murphy — be hired (as opposed to their usual artist), because Kerrie (also a vegan) uses only cruelty-free products and brushes! Our hair stylist was also vegan, as was the dog-sitter who hung out with our Rose during the shoot. Here’s a photo from the shoot that Kerrie snapped on her iPhone:
Any angle to squawk about animal rights, right?
Anyway, stay tuned for more on that feature, coming in the next few months, along with a lengthy interview.
In other news, I recently came across a few boxes with my old poetry in them, and though I couldn’t bear to go through them, I decided to close my eyes and pull one random out to read — just one. As it turns out, the one I grabbed was inspired by the non-human animal victims of Hurricane Katrina in 2005. If you’re a flock member, read on for a exclusive look at this poem. (And if you’re not a flock member yet, time to change that. Let’s keep vegan indie media alive, y’all.)
xo jasmin
#PRIVATE#
Hey flock…
It’s just us now. As I mentioned above, this is a random poem that I found in a huge box o’ poetry that I came across, which I wrote back in 2005. It’s completely unedited, and to be honest, I don’t remember writing it. I scribbled it on the back of stationary from the health food store where I worked at the time, and then I probably just stuffed it into this box. So, bear with me. (Incidentally, the “Marisa” I refer to in this is Marisa Miller-Wolfson, the genius behind Vegucated.)
xo jasmin
***
Purple Elephant
by Jasmin Singer, 10/22/05
To Katrina…
To the animals…
To the people…
We pretend not to hear
Instead we fear what never was ours
in the first place
The race of the train, the whining game
The sea of heads
We see it all but we see not a thing
It’s a circus ring, this home of ours
The hours fly away and there goes the day
And we eat our instant tomato soup
And sit in our recliner with our feet on
the ottoman by the cat who sleeps
But weeps for the world we pretend
not to hear
We fear explosion — hell, we’ve seen it all
We were down there that day with soot
in our hair and glass in our eyes
We know how to recover and we know how to wear
protest buttons on our bags and
dismay on our expressions
But at the end of the night when we lie on
our futon that we got on sale at Ikea,
a little voice inside our oversized Gap sweatshirt
that we bought just for sleeping says, shit…
We better open our eyes.
And we stare at the ceiling fan that we set to
low and think, I really should dust tomorrow.
But the voice from our sweatshirt says Wait,
We’re not done talking — We’re not done giving…
But the clock in the corner that used to be
Grandma’s sings go to bed, darling.
And our sweatshirt voice says wait… wait…
But it’s late so we pretend not to hear.
My girlfriend Marisa called me from the airport last week
Said she couldn’t breathe, there were dead dogs all over
There was muck in her toes, she said
People are so funny, I thought. We pretend not to hear.
But my girlfriend Marisa talked and I tried to smell her words,
to inhale her experience from half a country away.
There are dead dogs, I thought, and I looked at my cat, who sensed my
stare and made a little happy, curious cat sound.
We got off the phone and I thought, my girlfriend Marisa
must not have a sweatshirt voice.
When New York exploded I sort of imploded and
fell into myself. The TV newspeople
did not tell the whole story, like how thick the air was with death and fear.
The people shook their heads but they pretended
not to hear because New York was so close but such
a lifetime away.
They saw it all but they saw not a thing.
It’s a circus ring, this land of ours, where 10 things
happen at once and we don’t know where to look so
we focus instead on our own purple elephant.
It’s another day and my kitchen sink decided to leak all over
I close my eyes to will away the hindrance to my
day but no such luck. As I throw away
saturated sponges and cleaning products
I find myself thinking of my girlfriend Marisa
trudging through three foot of muck in what used
to be homes but are now domes of horror.
Marisa searched for live animals half a country away
While I throw Swiffers away and
kind of implode again because, shit,
I did it too this time
And so did you.
We pretend not to hear the fear in
their voices, the regret in
their choices to leave their animals behind
praying they will find a new away to
begin and strength from within.
I stop what I’m doing and sit on the
floor, my Gap sweatshirt pulled
over my knees. I close my eyes
again but I know that this time I
cannot will it away —
So what’s our answer?
How do we proceed when we live in
a country of greed and classism
and fascism where our leaders
are blind and our memories are
convenient?
I don’t know.
I don’t have the answer.
I’m just a girl with a dusty ceiling fan
who is good for a laugh and is great for a hug
But when it comes to natural disasters
or terrorism
I feel as empty as a
city of blues and as worn as an old
pair of shoes.
We pretend not to hear
Instead we fear what never was ours
in the first place
The race of the train, the whining game
The sea of heads
The unmade beds
downward stares
empty glares
bars
cars
A city that’s full
and never sleeps but is never awake
As far as I can see
We see it all but we see not a thing.
My girlfriend Marisa hangs up the phone
I am alone.
A dial tone rings in my ear.
To hell with fear, I say to myself, to my
sweatshirt voice
And I open my eyes for the first time
Since New York exploded
Here is my voice, I say
This is my voice
Fear will get us nowhere real fast
But to be awake. And to get
knee-deep in muck.
Here is my voice, I say now
and This is my choice.
***