If you've known me for any significant length of time, you'd know also that I'm squarely in the camp of Meat is Murder: Tasty, Tasty Murder. In other words, I'm a staunch carnivore. I love animals, but I also love eating them. There was a period in my life where I endeavored to eat meat with every meal. I would eat it in a box, I would eat it with a fox. I will eat it raw. Rest assured, dear reader, that had I the opportunity, I might even eat you.


But I have many wonderful and otherwise seemingly quite sane friends who are equally staunch herbivores, and I've realized through them that there are many benefits to vegetarianism. It is not in any way a lifestyle into which I can imagine immersing myself forever and ever all in one go, but there was no compelling argument against testing the waters a toe at a time.



So yesterday, Joe and I started our Meat-free Week. (We're including anything that had a nervous system as meat, so fish count.) This town is very vegetarian-friendly, but it also rife with meaty temptations, and already I've had to actively turn down three opportunities to stuff my face with dead animal. One friend has avowed to avoid me for the rest of the week. I've just finished a book about a wendigo, so cannibalism is not far from my thoughts (then again, is it ever?). 


We'll see how this shakes out. 


Eatcha later,