“Why, She Wouldn’t Even Harm A Fly”

This week I killed a cockroach and it made me cry.

First things first: I don’t know whether the fact there was a roach in my kitchen sink is a referendum on my housekeeping or just related to the fact that I live in an old apartment building on the first floor with windows facing out to the street, where I often see big-ass roaches on the sidewalk at night while walking my dog. Probably six of one, half a dozen of the other. 

Second, this wasn’t some regular little roach. This was like a three or four inch guy, a roach so big he was transcending insect and approaching being an animal. There’s a different relationship between killing a bug that is but a speck and killing a bug who looks like he could pick up one of my forks.

Third, a few years back I took Buddhist vows (the Five Precepts) that included the vow to refrain from harming living things. To be fair I regularly break this vow; while I have cut beef and pork from my diet, and while my growing lactose intolerance makes me opt for dairy substitutes more often, I still devour foul and fish. What’s more, my general lifestyle cannot be claimed cruelty-free because I do not pay attention to the origins of my clothes and stuff. 

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Lying Liars And The Lies They Tell

I know a guy who lies. All the time. About really big stuff, about his past and his job and his schooling and the famous actress who hit on him last night. He’s egregious about it, spinning the kinds of yarns that almost dare you to look him in the eye and say “You’re full of shit.”

This article in the New Yorker about suspense writer Dan Mallory reminded me of this dude I know. Mallory tells the same kinds of lies that this guy tells, the big sweeping kind. About cancer and dead parents, about personal heroism and personal sacrifice. Liars like these are destabilizing, because they call into question everything you know about them. I would sit across from this guy at lunch and he would tell me about things that were happening in his life and I wouldn’t know if he was shoveling shit or not. Some people can deal with that – I have to imagine that by now everybody he knows is aware he’s a liar on a pathological level – but I can’t. It’s too disorienting, and that was before he told some whoppers about me.

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Some Pig: OKJA And Vegetarianism

This year I began an imperfect journey towards vegetarianism, and it all started with Okja.

In May I took refuge in Buddhism, and one of the five precepts I undertook was that I would abstain from taking life. On the surface that’s easy – we don’t run around killing people – but the way Buddhism talks about life makes the whole question more complicated. In Buddhism we talk about not causing harm to ‘sentient beings,’ and science has caught up with Buddhism – if it has a nervous system, it’s probably sentient. The idea is that if it can feel pain you should avoid giving it pain.

So I had been working with that concept on a very small level – I started avoiding killing insects – when I began reading a book called Sapiens. It’s a history of homo sapiens from an evolutionary standpoint, and at one point late in the book the author makes an extraordinary claim: current factory farming practices are the greatest atrocity in which humanity has ever participated.

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