Meatless Like Me: I may be a vegetarian, but I still love the smell of bacon.

Every vegetarian remembers his first time. Not the unremarkable event of his first meal without meat, mind you. No, I mean the first time he casually lets slip that he's turned herbivore, prompting everyone in earshot to stare at him as if he just revealed plans to sail his carrot-powered plasma yacht to Neptune. For me, this first time came at an Elks scholarship luncheon in rural Oregon when I was 18. All day, I'd succeeded at seeming a promising and responsible young man, until that fateful moment when someone asked why I hadn't taken any meat from the buffet. After I offered my reluctant explanation—and the guy announced it to the entire room—30 people went eerily quiet, undoubtedly expecting me to launch into a speech on the virtues of hemp. In the corner, an elderly, suited man glared at me as he slowly raised a slice of bologna and executed the most menacing bite of cold cut in recorded history. I didn't get the scholarship.

I tell this story not to win your pity but to illustrate a point: I've been vegetarian for a decade, and when it comes up, I still get a look of confused horror that says, "But you seemed so … normal." The U.S. boasts more than 10 million herbivores today, yet most Americans assume that every last one is a loopy, self-satisfied health fanatic, hellbent on draining all the joy out of life. Those of us who want to avoid the social nightmare have to hide our vegetarianism like an Oxycontin addiction, because admit it, omnivores: You know nothing about us. Do we eat fish? Will we panic if confronted with a hamburger? Are we dying of malnutrition? You have no clue. So read on, my flesh-eating friends—I believe it's high time we cleared a few things up.

To demonstrate what a vegetarian really is, let's begin with a simple thought experiment. Imagine a completely normal person with completely normal food cravings, someone who has a broad range of friends, enjoys a good time, is carbon-based, and so on. Now remove from this person's diet anything that once had eyes, and, wham!, you have yourself a vegetarian. Normal person, no previously ocular food, end of story. Some people call themselves vegetarians and still eat chicken or fish, but unless we're talking about the kind of salmon that comes freshly plucked from the vine, this makes you an omnivore. A select few herbivores go one step further and avoid all animal products—milk, eggs, honey, leather—and they call themselves vegan, which rhymes with "tree men." These people are intense.

Vegetarians give up meat for a variety of ethical, environmental, and health reasons that are secondary to this essay's goal of increasing brotherly understanding, so I'll mostly set them aside. Suffice it to say that one day, I suddenly realized that I could never look a cow in the eyes, press a knocking gun to her temple, and pull the trigger without feeling I'd done something cruel and unnecessary. (Sure, if it's kill the cow or starve, then say your prayers, my bovine friend—but for now, it's not quite a mortal struggle to subsist on the other five food groups.) I am well-aware that even telling you this makes me seem like the kind of person who wants to break into your house and liberate your pet hamster—that is, like a PETA activist. Most vegetarians, though, would tell you that they appreciate the intentions of groups like PETA but not the obnoxious tactics. It's like this: We're all rooting for the same team, but they're the ones in face paint, bellowing obscenities at the umpire and flipping over every car with a Yankees bumper sticker. I have no designs on your Camry or your hamster.

Now, when I say that vegetarians are normal people with normal food cravings, many omnivores will hoist a lamb shank in triumph and point out that you can hardly call yourself normal if the aroma of, say, sizzling bacon doesn't fill you with deepest yearning. To which I reply: We're not insane. We know meat tastes good; it's why there's a freezer case at your supermarket full of woefully inadequate meat substitutes. Believe me, if obtaining bacon didn't require slaughtering a pig, I'd have a BLT in each hand right now with a bacon layer cake waiting in the fridge for dessert. But, that said, I can also tell you that with some time away from the butcher's section, many meat products start to seem gross. Ground beef in particular now strikes me as absolutely revolting; I have a vague memory that hamburgers taste good, but the idea of taking a cow's leg, mulching it into a fatty pulp, and forming it into a pancake makes me gag. And hot dogs … I mean, hot dogs? You do know what that is, right?

As a consolation prize we get tofu, a treasure most omnivores are more than happy to do without. Well, this may stun you, but I'm not any more excited about a steaming heap of unseasoned tofu blobs than you are. Tofu is like fugu blowfish sushi: Prepared correctly, it's delicious; prepared incorrectly, it's lethal. Very early in my vegetarian career, I found myself famished and stuck in a mall, so I wandered over to the food court's Asian counter. When I asked the teenage chief culinary artisan what was in the tofu stir-fry, he snorted and replied, "Shit." Desperation made me order it anyway, and I can tell you that promises have rarely been more loyally kept than this guy's pledge that the tofu would taste like shit. So here's a tip: Unless you know you're in expert hands (Thai restaurants are a good bet), don't even try tofu. Otherwise, it's your funeral.

As long as we're discussing restaurants, allow me a quick word with the hardworking chefs at America's dining establishments. We really appreciate that you included a vegetarian option on your menu (and if you didn't, is our money not green?), but it may interest you to know that most of us are not salad freaks on a grim slog for nourishment. We actually enjoy food, especially the kind that tastes good. So enough with the bland vegetable dishes, and, for God's sake, please make the Gardenburgers stop; it's stunning how many restaurants lavish unending care on their meat dishes yet are content to throw a flavorless hockey puck from Costco into the microwave and call it cuisine. Every vegetarian is used to slim pickings when dining out, so we're not asking for much—just for something you'd like to eat. I'll even offer a handy trick. Pretend you're trapped in a kitchen stocked with every ingredient imaginable, from asiago to zucchini, but with zero meat. With no flesh available, picture what you'd make for yourself; this is what we want, too.

For those kind-hearted omnivores who willingly invite feral vegetarians into their homes for dinner parties and barbecues (really! we do that, too!), the same rule applies—but also know that unless you're dealing with an herbivore who is a prick for unrelated reasons, we don't expect you to bend over backward for us. In fact, if we get the sense that you cooked for three extra hours to accommodate our dietary preferences, we will marvel at your considerate nature, but we will also feel insanely guilty. Similarly, it's very thoughtful of you to ask whether it'll bother me if I see you eat meat, but don't worry: I'm not going to compose an epic poem about your club sandwich.

Which leads me to a vital point for friendly omnivore-herbivore relations. As you're enjoying that pork loin next to me, I am not silently judging you. I realize that anyone who has encountered the breed of smug vegetarian who says things like, "I can hear your lunch screaming," will find this tough to believe, but I'm honestly not out to convert you. My girlfriend and my closest pals all eat meat, and they'll affirm that I've never even raised an eyebrow about it. Now, do I think it strange that the same people who dress their dogs in berets and send them to day spas are often unfazed that an equally smart pig suffered and died to become their McMuffin? Yes, I do. (Or, to use a more pressing example, how many Americans will bemoan Eight Belles' fatal Kentucky Derby injury tonight at the dinner table between bites of beef?) Would I prefer it if we at least raised these animals humanely? Yes, I would.

Let's be honest, though: I'm not exactly St. Francis of Assisi over here, tenderly ministering to every chipmunk that crosses my path. I try to represent for the animal kingdom, but take a look at my shoes—they're made of leather, which, I am told by those with expert knowledge of the tanning process, comes from dead cows. This is the sort of revelation that prompts meat boosters to pick up the triumphant lamb shank once again and accuse us of hypocrisy. Well, sort of. (Hey, you try to find a pair of nonleather dress shoes.) My dedication to the cause might be incomplete, but I'd still say that doing something beats doing nothing. It's kind of like driving a hybrid: not a solution to the global-warming dilemma but a decent start. Let's just say that at the dinner table, I roll in a Prius.

Finally, grant me one more cordial request: Please don't try to convince us that being vegetarian is somehow wrong. If you're concerned for my health, that's very nice, though you can rest assured that I'm in shipshape. If you want to have an amiable tête-à-tête about vegetarianism, that's great. But if you insist on being the aggressive blowhard who takes meatlessness as a personal insult and rails about what fools we all are, you're only going to persuade me that you're a dickhead. When someone says he's Catholic, you probably don't start the stump speech about how God is a lie created to enslave the ignorant masses, and it's equally offensive to berate an herbivore. I know you think we're crazy. That's neat. But seeing as I've endured the hassle of being a vegetarian for several years now, perhaps I've given this a little thought. So let's just agree to disagree and get on with making fun of Hillary Clinton's inability to operate a coffee machine.

Because, really, peace and understanding are what it's all about: your porterhouse and my portobello coexisting in perfect harmony—though preferably not touching. We're actually not so different, after all, my omnivorous chums. In fact, I like to think that when an omnivore looks in the mirror, he just sees a vegetarian who happens to eat meat. Or, no, wait, maybe the mirror sees the omnivore through the prism of flesh and realizes we all have a crystalline animal soul, you know?

This is excellent weed, by the way, if you want a hit. Hey, while you're here: Have I ever told you about hemp?

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My friend Karen wrote this about the love of her life, and my dear friend. I hope you will read it and contribute if you like.

As many of you know, my parents' Border Collie, Abby, has not been doing well for the last few months. She's had her good days and her bad days, but apparently she had a significant decline this morning and my parents made the decision to put her down.  

She was an amazing dog. I've been trying to find some good pictures of her to post, but it's hard to find one. She wasn't good at sitting still. She hated having her picture taken. She had better things to do with her time than pose for pictures, so I have precious few. She wasn't like most dogs; she had a definite sense of purpose. She was never one to sleep the day away – she would much rather be fetching the paper or trying to balance a ball on your foot or managing the rest of the dogs in the house. In her spare time, she would go for a jog on my parents' treadmill. She was unique and wonderful.

I know that this was for the best and have been preparing myself for a while, but I am a little heartbroken right now. She was a much loved member of my family, and she will be missed.

Spent most of my day yesterday feeling like my rear end was unusally massive.

Sometimes my crazy is justified, however...

Turns out I was wearing my underpants backwards.

Our beloved friend Audrey Simon, age 58, passed suddenly Sunday night, April 15, in Ann Arbor. Audrey was born in Detroit, Michigan, on April 3, 1949, the daughter of Rosslyn Berman and Donald Simon. Audrey leaves behind her son, William Sullivan, to whom she was deeply devoted. Loving sister to Andrea Surowitz; Larry (Susan), Eric (Janie), and Marlon (Maureen) Simon; and Simone (Michael) Moffatt.

Audrey lived life with consciousness and passion. She approached each day with a commitment to be fully and gently in the world. Her 30 years of work as a massage therapist brought her in close contact with people of all ages and sensibilities. Audrey was an authentic healer, caring deeply for those who sought her help. Audrey loved to read, and had an intense interest and enthusiasm for learning and expanding her thinking. She had an intuitive understanding of systems of nature and art, and she surrounded herself with beauty and love. She had a profound belief in the value of healing touch, and her knowledge and love of herbs, flowers, and plant-based medicines were a prominent aspect of her work and life.

For the last decade, Audrey's bodywork practice focused primarily on care for women, especially pregnant and post-partum women. Audrey also worked directly with women as a doula, supporting and nurturing women during their labors, and afterwards caring for them in their homes. In addition to Audrey's bodywork practice, she was instrumental in bringing the art of infant massage to the Ann Arbor community 15 years ago. There are hundreds of babies and children in our community whose parents were taught to comfort and soothe their babies by Audrey's loving and patient attention. Audrey was utterly dedicated to creating and supporting attachment and loving connection on many levels. This manifested itself in her infant massage classes between parents and babies, in her warm and welcoming home with her family and friends, in performing marriage ceremonies, and in the community where she actively supported causes that built peaceful exchange and respect for the Earth.

Most importantly, Audrey treasured her own relationships with those in her life. Audrey's ability to take practical action in times of crisis or need was remarkable. Her generosity, humor, empathy, and acceptance created an environment of loving kindness. Audrey loved to cook wonderful meals for friends, and her door was always open to anyone who needed her. Many who loved her considered her Mother of All.

There will be a ceremony celebrating Audrey's life Thursday, April 19, at 2 p.m., at the First Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Ann Arbor, 4001 Ann Arbor-Saline Road, Ann Arbor. Donations in Audrey's name can be mailed to Safe House, PO box 7052, Ann Arbor, MI 48107; or Global Fund For Women, 1375 Sutter St. # 400, San Francisco, CA, 94109. Additionally, Audrey's recent passion was an interest in sustainable agriculture. She planned to volunteer at Tantre Farm this summer; please consider volunteering at or donating to Tantre Farm in Audrey's honor. Contact Richard Andres at 734.475.4323 or tantre@ hotmail.com for information

I have been absolutely horrible about writing lately, and so I am writing this as an open apology to all of my nearest and dearest. ..

I have been neglecting you, and I am truly and deeply sorry. I have been lost in my own head for several weeks now and I am just now starting to come out of my funk. I am starting to get my work and home lives back on track, and now it is time to devote a little TLC time to my social life and my wonderful family and friends. I apologize for checking out on you all, but unfortunately when my head gets all full of junk like it has been lately I tend to close up until I can get things sorted. Believe me, even if I had not fallen out of touch, you would probably not have been able to understand a damn thing I was trying to say anyway. Trust me on this.

So, just a few little things to share from the past few weeks:

As some of you know, my wallet was stolen a few weeks ago. What a horrible feeling that is! I can be an absolutely evil person on occasion, but you have to be a really special kind of asshole to cause someone all that stress for a whopping $6 gain. I cancelled all of my cards immediately and there were no charges made to them on the night of the theft, so that was a relief. But it is in these situations that you really realize how important the little things are. For example: I was only two car washes away from a free car wash at the good car wash place around the corner. I was going to have to send away for a new library card. And as vain as it is to admit, I really liked how my driver's license picture turned out and since I have recently put on some weight I was dreading having a new picture taken. So, you can imagine my joy when I checked my mail this weekend to discover that someone had mailed the entire contents of my wallet back to me. Hooray! My license! My Dominick's card! My car wash stamp card! My 20% off Bed Bath & Beyond coupon! The only things that were missing were my $6, my wallet, and curiously enough, my Border's Rewards card. I don't know some bibliophile thief got a bout of conscience or if some kindly pedestrian found a stack of my receipts and cards in a garbage can and dropped it in the mail… however it happened, my faith in mankind has been restored for the time being. Except for that bastard who took my camera. That person is still at the very top of my shit list.

My dear friend Simon Grinder and I were having a chat about vacuums a few weeks ago. Like you do. He told me that he had taken his wife's Dyson vacuum to the gas station and used the compressed air pump to blow out all the hoses and filters. You can imagine how this idea has been haunting me, but I quickly realized that most air compressors at US gas stations only function when they are pressed against the tire air pressure release.  Thank god for Jessie and the Watterson family tool shed! Mr. Watterson has a number of different air compressors, so I spent a good 20 minutes doing a high-powered cleaning of my vacuum. It was immensely satisfying, and for those of you who share my love of vacuum cleaners, I highly recommend finding yourself a good air compressor. My vacuum is working so well, it could suck up a small child.

Gave myself a horrible panic attack on Saturday night. Lexi and I were curled up on the sofa for the night getting ready to watch a movie when she started acting strangely. Pacing a lot, drooling a bit, just clearly uncomfortable. I had just started her on some new food, and I immediately deduced that she had bloat. For those of you who don't know, bloat is a horrible condition that occurs frequently in giant breed dogs. Their stomach will fill with gas to the point where it comes detached from the abdominal wall and will twist off, cutting off blood supply to the heart. On the scale of freak-outs, I was about a 9. I looked up everything I could find on the condition, and they recommended that you a) listen for normal stomach sounds, because a lack of digestive sounds could mean trouble and b) press on her gums to test the rate of blood flow to the extremities. Needless to say, my poor dog (who just had a bit of a belly ache) was not at all comforted by her mother pressing a stethoscope to her stomach and pinching her lips every few minutes. This just made her more restless and drooly. This vicious circle continued for about two hours until she took a very satisfying trip outside and I finished a bottle of wine. We were both fine, but it was a harrowing Saturday night.

See? You haven't missed much at all.

Oh, and my house is still for sale. Please keep your fingers crossed for me!

·          Tent

·          Sleeping bag

·          Pillow

·          Flashlight

·          Money

·          Identification

·          Alcohol, etc.

·          Water

·          Toothbrush

·          Toilet paper

·          Snack food

·          Trash bag  

I have been meaning to start writing in this blog space for quite a while, so now that I am officially on vacation, I've decided that this would be as good a time as any to begin.

For those of you who havent heard, I am on vacation. I am, as I write this, looking out over a beautiful mountain lake while drinking a Honey Brown Lager. I am listening to the wonderful family that has adopted me as one of their own have a friendly argument about whether the dinner is being cooked correctly. I have put the thoughts about quarterly tax reports and general office worries and the stress of whether my house is going to look clean and presentable enough to sell out of my mind.

For now.

It is a struggle for me to be able to do that as those worries are so much a part of me that I have to remind myself to relax and enjoy the moment more often than not. But here, in this space and with these people, I am more at ease than I have been in a very long time.

And so now I am going to enjoy my dinner and my beer and my first real vacation in years.  And if I dont respond to your emails or phone calls for the next week, you'll know why!

Enjoy your week, my friends!