My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Meat's No Treat for Those You Eat


Iím back from my first ever mammogram and have this to say about it: eh, no biggie. Really, thatís easy for me to say as there was very little, um, flesh to be pressed and mangled. I supposed if Iíd been a bit more endowed, I might have a different take on this fairly un-painful and only mildly annoying screening. But, it was weird to sit in a pseudo ďparlorĒ Ė all done up with fake mirrored windows dressed up with drapes and a fake fireplace and mantel with blue and white Chinese porcelain vases stuffed full of fake flowers and holly leaves Ė and wonder how many of these women would be getting bad news today. I felt the ďcĒ word hovering in the room like a cloud of second-hand smoke.

And, in the same ďdeath is always presentĒ vein, on my way back to work, on I-95, I passed a semi hauling a four-story trailer full of pigs. They looked understandably miserable. Itís over 90 degrees today and it must have been much, much hotter in that trailer, despite all the holes. One little pink guy had his snout sticking out of one of the air holes, probably trying to breathe air that was less than 120 degrees. I whispered to them that at least I would not be consuming them. I felt bad for their plight; their short, miserable pointless lives. Created only to be eaten. An animal as smart as that Ė all for naught. Blech.

I am not a PETA member Ė Iím not that radical about anything, really Ė and did not become a vegetarian because of any particular animal-rights stance. Meat stopped agreeing with my bad digestion and I gave it up around 1988. But, I have yet to find a good reason to go back to my carnivorous ways. Thereís every reason not to eat that nasty meat: itís bad for your health, especially with the amounts of steroids and hormones and antibiotics injected in milk cows, pigs, beef cattle, chickens, etc. Itís cruel Ė and I donít believe all that free-range crap. Itís wasteful. Itís bad for the environment. Itís nasty. I really love the fiction of a ďjuicyĒ steak. Folks, itís called blood. Blood! Itís red because itís blood seeping out of a piece of sawed-off flesh. Look at your arm. Does it look delicious to you?

Every time I have to drive into the city, I have to pass a chicken factory Ė one of the national brands. Begins with a T. And, once youíve smelled the smell that emanates from the smoke stacks and seen those chicken trucks packed to the rafters with live chickens heading to their final destination, I donít see how anyone can sit down to a roast chicken dinner or visit a KFC ever again. I donít understand how people can feed it to their children, how you can buy a gallon of cowís milk and allow your child to ingest all those trace antibiotics that could possible render her unable to fight off an infection one day, all those hormones that cause her body to mature at eleven instead of a more normal thirteen. Blech.

Iím just thinking out loud here. Iím not trying to point fingers and get all strident and tell you how to raise your family. Iím just speaking my personal pieceÖpeace. Really. You do what you want to do. But if your kid comes up to me and asks me why I donít eat meat? Iím gonna tell them. Straight up. Beware. [Funny aside: one of Dustyís friends told her the other day that when she grew up she was going to be a vegetarian. Score one for the team!]

Iím done with death now. I have an action-packed weekend ahead, what with reading to dogs and famous author visits.

Happy Weekend! Hereís soy in your eye!


11:36 a.m. ::
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