i ripped a crab in half with my bare hands last night.
rinsed out its mealy yellow guts, pulled off the lunglike filter sacs, broke the cartiladge encasing soft pink flesh.

i feel i am a better vegetarian for having done so.
no, really.

i think many of the problems facing mankind today stem from our disconnection to the basic essentials of our lives. we delegate the responsibility of our daily needs - food, shelter, clothing - to people we don't know and will never meet. most people have no concept of what process brings strawberries to their table in december - or crabs to their table in iowa.

no, i didn't catch them myself, but our neighbors bought them off a local boat at the harbor. my father cooked them, two big boilingover pots, and he prepared them for everyone else, cracking the legs and making the body ready for easy consumption.
i wanted to do it myself, break open the hard shell and deal with the messy crustacean ick inside. i figured, if i couldn't handle the process of preparing it, i didn't deserve to be eating it. if i couldn't deal with the whole reality of consuming another being; muscles, guts, ick and all; i shouldn't do so.

i stood at the sink, yelping every few seconds as i discovered another squishy piece of innards to be removed. my mother laughed and asked what, exactly, was i doing.

in tones of squeamish indignation, i replied,
"i'm experiencing my food, mom."