A Carnivore Looks at Life at 50
Or, How I Quit Killing and Learned to Like(?) Hemp
My spouse and I went down to one car during the pandemic -- we both work at home now, and of late I’ve been experimenting with other ways to walk more softly upon the Earth. My carbon-and-etcetera footprint has never been huge, but I’ve done my share of damage over the past (Holy Hell!) half century.
I’m mostly vegetarian these days, in part for the planet and in part because I want to stop eating things that exhibit play behavior. My first sighting of vegetarianism came due to a James Blish novelization of the Star Trek episode “All Our Yesterdays.” In the episode, Spock and McCoy are trapped five-thousand years in the past, and Spock begins to revert to the ways of his violent, meat-eating ancestors (the idea being that the modern Vulcan has evolved beyond the point of needing to take animal life to survive). Later, in the late 1980s in Maine, I dated a vegetarian who was pretty much limited, when we went out, to Wendy’s baked potatoes and french fries. Now, that I’m learning to cook vegetarian, I’m a much better boyfriend.
I’ve always been a thrift-store guy, but now I’m trying to cut leather out of my wardrobe. As my leather goods wear out, I replace them with something that never had a pulse. I started with my watchbands, brown and black. This got complicated because I’m trying not to do synthetics, either, so I ended up with two identical hemp watchbands that suggest I’m much more fond of reggae than I really am. Still, problem solved.
The boots went about six months ago, the beautiful brown leather boots I bought myself as an early retirement present in 2017, the only shoes I’ve owned that caused random strangers to compliment my taste. Nothing leather-esque seems as good as the real thing, so I switched to fabric. I’m not sold on them yet. They’ve not proven how well they’ll hold up. The black boots, ten-year-old Docs, I mostly use for shoveling snow.
My brown leather belt went last month. It’s probably twenty years old and served well until the very end. I’m probably going to go hemp again, although I haven’t bitten the bullet. As long as I wear the black canvas boots when I leave the house, I can continue to wear the one leather belt -- also about twenty years old -- I have left.
I am under no illusions that I’m saving the planet or sparing hundreds of animals from the slaughterhouse. The world doesn’t work that way. And, yes, I know if the situation were reversed, those belt-and-boot-making cows would be happy to eat me and turn my hide into fashion, but I have thumbs and money enough for “chicken nuggets” made from pea protein and they do not.
And if I can walk a little lighter and have the capacity to demonstrate the results of all those years of evolution and human civilization, shouldn’t I? Yeah, probably.
NEWS: My thirtieth college reunion is coming up, and number thirty-five for high school. That’s crazy. My brother and his very cool spouse just had a baby, so welcome to the family Jasper. Pride Month is nigh, and I’ll be appearing virtually at UK’s Cymera Festival June 2. Meanwhile, my agent Sara Megibow is shopping a new book around, I’ve another one in the bag, and yet another on my plate.
Until next time, friends, walk easy. -Rob
Love to read your little tidbits my friend