A Clarification of the previous entry

I think my entry from yesterday probably deserves a bit more explanation. First of all, here's how the poulterer experience works:

• You show up and take a number.

• Your number is called, and the poulterer asks what manner of fowl you want, and about how many pounds you want.

• He goes in back, from which there is coming squauking, steam and a rather nasty smell produced by a whole bunch of caged birds

• He returns with your live bird in hand, shows it to you, weighs it and announces the weight. Price is based on live weight. I don't pretend to have the talent to judge how to get my money's worth based on live weight. I just liked to see that they were healthy. No doubt this is a skill that others in the room have which I don't.

• You say, "yeah, that's the one for me" or "gosh, that one looks a bit dodgy, bring me another".

• He goes in back and gives your bird to the guy (or woman) back there.

• Mysterious things like slaughtering, gutting and defeathering occur. I have no idea how the defeathering is achieved so quickly.

• 10 minutes or so pass

• You are handed a bag that contains a defeathered dead duck, chicken, guinea fowl, pigeon or whatever it was you wanted (generally, you had to call a day ahead if you wanted something big like a turkey or a goose). If you ask, they'll quarter it or whatever. The inner parts are in a separate plastic bag, though I was never a fan of that stuff AT ALL. Typically, I par boiled the nasty bits up for my cats or my dog. They *loved* anything like that, and while they damn well didn't need it cooked, I did. Dunno why, but I couldn't just throw a raw chicken liver in my cat's or dog's bowl.

This is what I mean by "if the experience is to much for you..." comment. It is too much for my mother who then claims "but then you know that chicken personally!". Now frankly, I'm baffled by this. Either it's food or it's not, and if you can't deal with the fact that it was living 10 minutes ago and now it's dead and it's ALL YOUR FAULT, you're really deluded about where your food comes from. Frankly, if you've ever caught and cleaned fish yourself, this isn't likely to freak you out.

This is why I have problems eating land dwelling mammals like cows and pigs (I don't eat anything with feet, actually, I just didn't quit eating fowl out of sympathy for them. I have none -- my reasons are more complex.) It's not that they don't taste good, they certainly do. I just can't think about what had to happen for them to arrive on my plate, and since I can't deal with the idea of a slaughterhouse (and a poulterer is totally small-time compared to the ordeal that IS slaughtering a cow or pig), I shouldn't be eating that meat.

I do wear leather, as all my friends know. Someone is going to eat that critter...it's just not going to be me. Oddly, I don't need the same justification to wear the cow parts as I would to eat the inside of the cow. I don't know why -- I think it's just so far away from the actual animal at that point that it doesn't matter. You know, the same way that kosher gelatin is considered not meat even though it's boiled down ligaments and bone, just like the non-kosher gelatin. Of course, there may be a requirement that it not come from a pig, only a cow. I really don't know the details of that.

You would simply not believe how many people from whom I've gotten the true joy of telling them that jello is meat. It comes up more than you might think. I refuse a jello shot or actual jello on the grounds of it being meat, and someone looks at me cross-eyed. What the hell do people think gelatin *is* anyway?

My reasons for being a veggie aren't animal rights related (more like health, the environment, general disgust), in case you hadn't figured that out by now, so I don't care if *you* eat meat. That's your health, your body, your temple and therefore your choice. No, really, I don't care. I even remember liking certain things like steaks (bloody), burgers (rare and greasy, preferably) and other red meat related things. I remember liking fowl at some point, but I don't miss it even one teensy bit. I never have thoughts of falling off the wagon for fried chicken. If I fell off, I'd fall hard and have a cheeseburger or a meatball hero and make myself good and sick, I'm sure.

more later about the Front Royal visit

more later regarding Exit.