Prep School, v.1

My knowledge of being vegan is limited to this: a vegan is a man or woman, usually between the ages of seventeen and twenty-nine, who has good hair. They often go out to eat in a group and are stared at because of their fantastically well-coordinated thrift store outfit and/or their body modification. Their menu choices are limited to water, olive oil, and questions. They cannot eat cheese. Often this is the main complaint about being a vegan. Occasionally vegans are women with long, grey hair kept in a single plait and they were many layers of skirts. Their name may incorporate a herb or a lunar phase and they are the sole purchasers of reusable maxi pads.

Reasons for becoming a vegan can vary but in my snap judgement and ignorance I have selected three categories under which they may fall:

1. Animal/Environmental Activists -- Although peppered with a bunch of jam band following, hemp necklace wearing, unshowered hackeysack enthusiasts, I think this group is perhaps the most sensible. Love an animal, save an animal, all that mushy stuff that makes for a productive summer protest. I, however, have learned that I am not an "animal lover." My ex-girlfriend's black lab mix ate my turkey sandwich one afternoon back in '99 and ever since then I've known that I am capable of truly hating something that doesn't even have prehensile thumbs or the ability to fully appreciate the brutal impact of being called a "vile ball wart."

2. The Health Nut -- Often believers of body parts called chakras* this group annoys me but also makes sense. They usually have some sound reasoning for what brought them to plant based meals, and they will often be generous enough to offer you a sample of bee cartilage or digestive yeast. My connection to these folks would be limited, simply because my eyes glaze automatically when I hear the word "yogi."

3. Hipsters -- Parents didn't love them enough, therefore they quest to be different and ironic. Fancy anorexia apparently does the trick. Along with the new Decemberists' album. Maybe I could fit into this category when I'm done making fun of mustaches and the resurgence of Ray-Bans. (Still ugly, kids.)

So there's my limited knowledge wrapped up with a lovely, sarcastic bow. The truth is, similar to some of those wild and tasty creatures I'm suddenly going to stop consuming, my claws come out when I feel fear. Voluntary starvation - like the army, training for a triathlon, and childbirth - is an activity I fear and basically believe should be avoided at all costs. But maybe this will teach me the true depths of my inability to commit to an activity, even over the course of a mere month. That will save me many graduate school application fees for sure. It might also teach me not to judge others so harshly without any verifiable information to back up my cruel, carnivorous cynicism.

* I'm not sure if these are body parts. I am sure they are not a female musician from the eighties.