the holy ghost

i'm considering resurrecting this blog. i don't feel like i have anything to say about my life anymore; at least, nothing that's fit for public viewing (maybe herein lies the problem? i used to pretend like nobody ever read this? and now that nobody does anymore, maybe it's safe to begin again?).
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the other week, i somehow randomly came across a tv show or other source of information that commented on cooking lamb, and how this form of young sheep was much tastier than old sheep, or mutton. i saw spots and almost had a seizure. seriously? baby sheep = lambs?

it's not two entirely different, albeit related, species (like goats? are you going to tell me now that goats are grandma sheep? and billy goat gruffs are their old corn pipe-smoking husbands?).

i had this image of little baby lambs, with tiny coltish legs far too little for me to eat (except maybe as an appetizer), hopping around in green pastoral fields, growing strong on grasses and daisies, one day growing into well-muscled, bleating adults before being herded onto a truck, whisked away from the bucolic splendor, hacked to bits, massaged with garlic and rosemary, and laid out steaming on my dinner table.

who wants to eat a fucking sheep?

while i was busy scanning my childhood database for how i could have missed this seemingly pertinent bit of information, kz was at first incredulous and then unabashedly amused. like seriously, really amused. even more amused than he was the time i told him that when i was 13 and i saw a nat geo special on llamas, i was shocked, dismayed, and disappointed to find out that they didn't have two heads. can i help it that i grew up with the old school rex harrison "dr doolittle" as a major source of my zoological information? it was the 80's, and laser discs of 'the trials of life' with david attenborough's mellifluous high-tea golf commentary weren't available yet.

the push-me-pull-you may have duped me for the better part of a decade, but i don't EAT llama. i don't get tiny stuffed llamas in my easter basket (why not, MOM???). i don't clamor for my dad to make roast leg of llama every time i come home. i don't carry around stuffed llamas in my purse and get high on swedish fish and joke to the attendant at store 24 that it's my "llama of god." i do, however, have a t-shirt that says "word to your llama" on it, and it's adorned with a cartoon of a sad looking mono-cranial llama, eyes downcast as it asks you imploringly if perhaps you've seen its missing twin head.

but seriously. lamb?
may the baby sheep of god have mercy on me.