Rated PG for a few cuss words
I purchased a new car over Memorial Day weekend. I was a hardened, astute negotiator. I practically got that car for free. (wild exaggeration) Let me tell you how.
For many, many years I was a devoted Honda driver. My feelings about cars were that they should be cute or at least not-embarrassing, and that they should be fuel efficient. I've driven an old Accord, a Civic, a CR-V. Reliable as hell, all of them.
I am married to a man who loves German automobiles. I cannot emphasize his love enough. For the automobiles. When I married him, he was driving a 1980 Mercedes something something. It had 4 doors and was white. In fact, let me go way back here, because this is cute. On our first date (omg), I was quite curious to see what he was driving. I had known him for years, but I'd never really known what car he drove (partly because for several years he didn't really have a car because he was broke-ass broke. He'd say "starving artist," but anyway.). I thought he'd be driving a pick-up truck since he's a woodworker. Nope. An old Mercedes. This was kind of a head-scratcher. But then I found out that he used biodiesel in it, and just are you kidding me? That is beyond adorable. Anyway, I wasn't a fan of that car because it was incredibly uncomfortable and the passenger side door handle didn't work, which is the worst.
Fast forward to two weeks ago. We now have three oldish BMWs (one of which is an old, classic car), a 1957 Porsche, an enormous 1972 Chevy pickup (admittedly, not German) and zero Hondas.
[I am reminded of a mural I saw in a hostel in Rome back when I was backpacking through Europe in my twenties. It read: "Heaven is where the cops are British, the mechanics are German, the cooks are Spanish, the lovers are Italian, and it's all organized by the Swiss. Hell is where the cooks are British, the cops are German, the mechanics are Spanish, the lovers are Swiss, and its all organized by the Italians." Yay stereotypes! Moving on!]
A couple Saturdays ago my car broke down. Needed a new starter. Got towed to the mechanic. This is not the first time this car has needed a new something or other. Herein lies the major problem with high-performance automobiles: they are very expensive to repair. This is not a secret. But I blame my husband for this entire predicament because somewhere in there it was his idea to buy my car; surely I did not use my own will or agency when choosing that model; nor can I be responsible for the extreme enjoyment I experienced while driving that car, especially the speed part, especially the speed part when merging onto the freeway and being faster than everybody else; nor do I feel at all to blame for the somewhat hasty decision to buy that unit in particular, what with its high miles and rather fuzzy ownership history. I showed up to this marriage as a driver of reliable Japanese cars and my husband did various things to my brain and the next thing I knew I was driving a German car and paying exorbitant $$ to get it repaired too many times.
It was, admittedly, easy to go from reliable car to high-performance car. It is, however, difficult to go from fast car to not-fast car. It is not difficult to say goodbye to expensive, falling-apart car. But does one say goodbye to falling-apart car and then say hello to new fast car? Or does one say hello to new reliable car? Sigh. One says hello to new reliable car.
Which brings me to this past Saturday at the Honda dealership. Talk about a shit way to spend your Saturday. Not to disparage Honda. All things considered, the experience of buying from the dealership was not bad. But that is just unavoidably an uncomfortable experience. There are no happy faces in a dealership showroom. There are the salespeople who pace around, often jangling something in their pockets, eyes darting about in a state of predation. Then there are the shoppers, who look tired and jumpy and dubious and broke. It's akin to being in the doctor's waiting room. You look around at other weary souls, wondering what they're bargaining for, everybody in various states of I've-had-enough.
I'm not going to detail the experience here for you today, dear reader. It's too excruciating to relive in my head. Important in our (my) success were several strategies.
1) We brought extra kids with us. This wasn't our plan, but we ended up with some extra kids (high quality kids) and it worked out great. Wes and the 3 kids were an added pressure for the sales guy, IMHO. They're all bouncing around, touching everything, adding an unpredictable element.
2) I test-drove a couple cars, chatted with the sales guy and Wes and the three bouncing kids, and then we rather abruptly left. He was really thrown off by that. I was dying as we walked out because I was so uncomfortable and was worried that we were hurting his feelings (? why ?).
a) I was so uncomfortable that I had to pretend I was somebody else in order to persevere. I pretended I was a fictitious version of myself, one that easily waltzes in and out of high-pressure deals with confidence and nerves of steel. I mean, all I was doing was exiting a building, but it was still so painful.
i) I do the same thing in airports. Man, I hate airports. I pretend I'm a spy or assassin, and that dealing with the throngs of humans and stresses of air travel are just inane, quotidian annoyances of my super badass profession. And that I'm probably working undercover so I have to keep my cool. Also, meds are sometimes involved.
3) I came back a few hours later by myself. We had already decided where we wanted the final cost to be for finance/monthly payment purposes. We had already decided what we wanted for the trade-in on the German lemon. We already knew which model we wanted, and which bells and whistles were unimportant to us. I wrote all that down on a 3x5 card and kept that in my purse.
a) It wasn't exactly part of the high strategy that I go back by myself but Wes did not want to leave the enormous pork shoulder he was smoking. Also, I wanted to do it by myself. (As I've mentioned before, Wes does like to use his words. I wanted all the words to be my words. Words.)
4) I wore high wedge shoes. Super tall.
5) I used super simple language. "We want to pay x amount for the car." "We want x amount for the trade-in." Hurry up and say the simple sentence, get it out of your mouth, and then it's theirs to deal with. Sweating occurs. My sweating. I doubt he was sweating. He does this stupid shit every day. All. The. Time. This is gross for me, but not for him. I had to remind myself of this over and over. I'd say "he's just fine" in my mind. That was my mantra. Otherwise, the awkward part of me that wants to slouch, and accommodate his feelings, and be apologetic for wanting something at all, and use too many words, and ask instead of tell, will crawl forward. NO SLOUCHING!
6) I brought a nerdy magazine and my nerdy reading glasses. This was my coup de grace. I took out the magazine and placed it on his desk so he could see that I have other things to pay attention to. I put on my nerdy, quasi-unneccesary reading glasses to look smart and serious.
a) Sales guys talk to you at their desk in the showroom and then they scurry off to the manager's office to see if they can possibly save your soul by getting Oz behind the Green Curtain to agree to your request. Then they scurry back and say "great news!" to lower your defenses and then they tell you that Oz will only take one of your children, not two. Win/Win. I heard this "great news!" thing used over and over in the showroom. (Here is where you nod knowingly.)
b) While sales guy is gone, I relax with my magazine. ("Archaeology" magazine on this particular day. I am a devoted subscriber.) This gives me something to take my mind off the sweating. And when he comes back, he finds me leaning back, engrossed in the excavation of a Bronze Age site in England, and he is in the position of interrupting me because I'm doing something else.
7) I excuse myself to call my husband. I've already explained that my husband couldn't be with us, but naturally I need to call him to confirm the financial details. I leave the magazine and glasses on the desk so sales guy can see what I'm reading, and he can think: "she's no dummy". Or, "what a nerd." Whatever.
a) I talk to my husband for a long time on the phone. this is not necessarily on purpose. Again, Wes uses a lot words. Also, he's never bought a car from a manufacturer's dealership before. Also, he's not actually there to be in the muck, so he feels like he's not holding the controls, which leads him to want to talk a lot about the faults in this system in general, and to be disappointed that we are not getting this brand new car for, like, $2000. But I do think it is helpful that we talked on the phone for a long time. Or, at least that is what I'm telling myself because I know how to do these things because I'm a high-powered negotiator with nerves of steel.
8) Same as #5. I counter his offer with short sentences. I try not to fiddle with my glasses. I survive the entire negotiation with my dignity in tact. I'm exhausted and starving.
In the end, I think we came to a very reasonable deal. Feel free to use any of my well-honed, expert tactics. I mean, the house always wins, at least a little bit. That's the reality with any retail. The point is to reduce that win as much as you can. They did not take my firstborn child (only child). I got a ripping good APR. We got waaaaay below invoice price. I was far more comfortable in my own skin than the first time I bought from a dealership in my mid-twenties. My credit score is better than my husband's (the best part of the day). They took the damn BMW.
I've never bought a brand new car before. It is surreal. I am not relaxed yet when driving it. It feels rather like hurrying around with someone else's newborn. Like, "oh what a beautiful miracle; but so fragile, no? Am I hurting it? What does that sound mean? Maybe someone else should take care of it?" I'll get used to it. Plus, it has a WARRANTY. So fancy.
Thursday, May 31, 2018
My Rating System
Hello.
I imagine the likelihood of me being related to you, fair reader, is very high. If you are my cousin or if you are a beloved auntie, or just a more couth person than myself, then most likely you don't employ as many four letter words (shall we say) as I've been known to use. I don't want to alienate my precious readership, but I also want to use my most authentic voice* (within reason), so I've been pondering how to keep us all comfortable. Here's what I've come up with:
I've decided to implement a Rating System. This way, if you would rather not read swear words or if you want to keep content away from, I dunno, kids or whatnot, then you'll maybe be informed about such potentialities via my Rating System. I will add a rating with each title. They will be similar to movie ratings. This is an experiment, done earnestly, and I hope it doesn't come off the wrong way. Like, I hope it doesn't seem gimmicky or condescending.
THANK YOU for being here! I hope you enjoy it.
*also, "authentic voice" is a bit of an eye-roller, but you see my point.
THANK YOU for being here! I hope you enjoy it.
*also, "authentic voice" is a bit of an eye-roller, but you see my point.
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
Single-Use Plastics are Bad
A couple posts ago I discussed my confused relationship with straws. It was a rather glib approach to a very serious problem. I can be glib. Today I share with you the hard work of my son, his teachers, and his classmates, to bring awareness to the dangers of straws and other single-use plastics that I was recently so casually glib about.
My son is in 2nd grade. This year they worked on a big unit about the oceans and the creatures and corral reefs in them. They also learned about the plastic pollution in our oceans. As a class, they became very concerned about the impact of the garbage, and particularly plastics, in our oceans. They started picking up plastic on the playground. They started examining the plastics used in their lunches, and how they were disposed of. A couple of the students (girls, naturally) wanted to start a newspaper to inform the people of our town about our living oceans and their peril due to plastic garbage.
One of the things the 2nd graders decided to do was to present a request at the Burlington City Council meeting for an ordinance to ban single-use plastic bags, as other cities have done. So, a couple of weeks ago, a number of the 2nd graders gathered their thoughts and took turns standing at the microphone and shared some scary and important data with the city council. It was the following: adorable, scientific, inspiring, informative, nerve-wracking, civic, impactful, well-executed, and more adorable.
The plan was for my kid to speak first. I thought for sure we were treading into melt-down territory on the day of the meeting. But he was strong of spirit. He showed no fear in anticipation of public speaking. My mind was boggled. We arrived at city hall and Buck joined the rest of his classmates without hesitation. The teachers began the presentation with a display of a very long rope made out of single-use plastic grocery bags from eight families, which was the kids' idea. Then my kid walked up to the lectern, stood on a chair, and spoke words into the microphone.
Here he is, in my crappy picture, at the lectern. I was so sweaty and nervous and excited that I did not take any good pictures. He is wearing a plaid shirt and striped tie, per his choice. He said: "Americans use 100 BILLION single-use carryout bags each year. It takes 12 million barrels of oil to produce that many bags. AND oil spills have damaged our planet as well."
Seven other children stood on a chair at the lectern and spoke into the microphone. Here is what the taught us:
1) Eight of our second grade families sent in plastic grocery bags that they had laying around the house. When we tied them together, they measured 513 feet long, which is one and a half lengths of our school.
2) If the bags from America's Target stores were tied together, they would circle the earth SEVEN times EACH YEAR....and that's just Target! Half of all plastic made every year is made to be used once, then thrown away. Plastic doesn't break down into anything useful to other living things.
3) Every minute, enough plastic to fill a dump truck enters the ocean. Much of it is plastic bags. 8.8 MILLION TONS OF PLASTIC ENDS UP IN OUR OCEANS EVERY YEAR. We have seen around 52 percent of the world's wildlife disappear in the past 40 years, and if we continue to dump plastic into the world's oceans, this number will increase if things don't change. [that was Buck's best friend Lila who shared that. xo]
4) Items we use for only a few minutes, like plastic bags, water bottles, cups or straws, should NEVER end up in the belly of a whale. In April 2018, a whale was found dead with nearly 65 POUNDS of plastic trash crammed into its stomach. 700 marine species could become extinct due to plastic being eaten by fish, birds, and marine mammals.
5) Almost all of the plastic EVER MADE is still with us today. Plastic is FOREVER. We don't want to see our world become a ball of plastic bags!
6) Skagit County uses 37 million bags every year. 99 out of 100 plastic bags in Skagit County are NOT returned for recycling.
7) By the year 2050, when I am 40 years old, there will be more plastic in the ocean than fish by weight. This is OUR future, and we need your help to make this change!
The mayor and councilmen (all men, btw, just btw) looked pretty reserved, but I suppose they have to play their cards close to their chests. Earlier in that week, we realized that Buck was under the impression that a law could be written and codified right then and there, and victory could be theirs (!). Thank goodness we got that ironed out ahead of time. We'll clearly need to do some follow-up to ensure the powers-that-be (all men, btw) continue to consider this matter.
We took Buck and his friend Morgan to frozen yogurt afterwards because sugar is fun! They were so proud of themselves, which was really sweet (pun). I told them that they are only 8 years old but they have already done public speaking! Buck has really glommed onto that factoid. He shared it with his cousins as soon as he could.
That night, as we were tucking Buck into bed, and reflecting on the bigness of the day, Buck started to get choked up. Realizing that there had been a pretty high high (and sugar) that evening, so a low was perhaps to be expected, I gently inquired as to his mood. This is what he said:
"I am worried for our future."
Dammmmmittttttt. Wes and I stumbled around for some words of encouragement; we did a mediocre job of responding. I put something together about being stewards of the environment, and that he was doing all the right things to save our oceans, and that it's hard to consider the scary things when we're tired so he should wait til the morning. Ugh.
So, there you go people. Our kids are crying into their pillows because of the 8.8 million tons of plastic that are ending up in our oceans every year. Super real.
Monday, May 21, 2018
Books
I just finished this book:
My highly astute friend Erin sent this book to me. "Go, Went, Gone" by Jenny Erpenbeck, translated from German. It is a story about a recently-retired widower living in what was formerly East Berlin. He becomes intrigued by the plight of a group of African refugees. His journey to understand these men proves to be a metaphysical blossoming for him. He contemplates their individual flights from war and terror, and through them he faces the excruciating position of what to do when you literally have nowhere to go. It's a hard read, emotionally. There were a couple of literary tropes that I could have done without, but I did appreciate how the disjointed flow of his thoughts reflected his formal professorial approach to the very messy human situation. And it was certainly an education for a non-European to glimpse the complications created by so many borders, so many languages, so many laws. I definitely recommend.
My highly astute friend Erin sent this book to me. "Go, Went, Gone" by Jenny Erpenbeck, translated from German. It is a story about a recently-retired widower living in what was formerly East Berlin. He becomes intrigued by the plight of a group of African refugees. His journey to understand these men proves to be a metaphysical blossoming for him. He contemplates their individual flights from war and terror, and through them he faces the excruciating position of what to do when you literally have nowhere to go. It's a hard read, emotionally. There were a couple of literary tropes that I could have done without, but I did appreciate how the disjointed flow of his thoughts reflected his formal professorial approach to the very messy human situation. And it was certainly an education for a non-European to glimpse the complications created by so many borders, so many languages, so many laws. I definitely recommend.
Tuesday, May 15, 2018
Mother's Day
As we know, Mother's Day occurred this past weekend. I carefully engineered things so that the entire weekend worked towards my honor. There was high levels of love, enjoyment, appreciation, rest, relaxation, food, gifts, chocolate cake, and sunshine. Voila!
On Thursday night, we bought me a new wheel barrow. (I know, I know! So lucky.) On Friday nothing occurred, which is sometimes a good thing. On Saturday, I awoke fairly well-rested. We all made ourselves presentable and went to Christianson's Nursery which is a hallowed place for plant lovers, and is a generally well-tolerated place for people who belong to plant lovers because they have those little flatbed carts. Buck commandeered the little flatbed cart. I tried not to be stressed about this. Mostly, I let Wes and Buck be a team and I let myself ignore them because I was on a mission. I was NOT the only mother there on Mother's Day weekend, however, so I really had to self-advocate to get the plants I wanted. I moved fast, in a zone if you will, from section to section, greenhouse to greenhouse. Wes and Buck did a decent job of keeping up with me even though I was ignoring them. In the end, I found exactly what I wanted, plus a few other temptations. And equally fantastic and impressive, the boys maintained a good attitude and lots of patience, and nobody got hurt by the little flatbed cart. It wasn't even Mother's Day yet and already things were incredibly groovy!
I am no plant/gardening expert, by any stretch of the imagination. I try. The first few years of living here with an actual yard to start from scratch with, I was both super excited and totally overwhelmed. At this time of year, when I yearn to plant things, I'm usually postured firmly between enthusiasm and ignorance. For several Mother's Days, we've gone to the Master Gardener's big mega intensely overwhelming sale at the fair grounds. I would fall into a bit of a trance and fill my arms with various plant mysteries, and go home and need a nap. But this spring, my garden has felt less mysterious. I know exactly what I want to do, and where. I even know most of the names for this trunk full of plants you see. Viburnum, daphne, fuchsia, geranium, sweet peas, Hollandia broom, and a thing called a rhodohypoxis which sounds like a medieval disease but is really the absolutely cutest little thing you've ever seen. I think one reason I've been eager to learn about gardening is just to gather up all these new and amazing words. There are so many words. I am so jealous of the green thumbs out there that have all these delicious words in their brains. (Also, I think my new personal motto is 'there are so many words.')
Saturday afternoon, Wes and I went on a hike and then out to an early dinner. It has been sunny in Skagit Valley so everyone else also went on the same hike that day. Lots of humans. But I didn't let it get to me. We had a great time. When we were almost to the lookout, Wes pushed past me and ran the rest of the way so the people already there would think he was a super badass. Typical.
When we got home that night, I made a flourless chocolate cake. I'd never made a flourless chocolate cake before, but I really like to eat them, so I had a lot of hope in that cake. The next day, we went to the opening day of the Edison Farmer's Market where I got to hold my friend's baby Eloise and lull her to sleep in my arms. It was a delightful Mother's Day nugget of an experience. I also really, really enjoyed handing that sleeping baby back to her daddy. Thank you and thank you. Later, Buck and I drove to my parents' house on Camano Island where we focussed on being very lazy. My mom and I talked about stuff and other stuff, and I made a ganache for the chocolate cake. My father was keeping a close eye on the cake. When we sat down to dinner, he slowly approached the table and gave me a very stern look while saying: "I don't see the main course." And then he sat down with an air of disappointment. Meaning, the cake ought to be the main course. This was hilarious and filled my heart so much that it still hurts to think of it.
I am really only here today to tell you how damn good that cake was. It tasted far better than it looked. The texture and consistency was even and silky. I'd used dark chocolate, and the taste was so deep, so evil, so luxurious that we've had to lock the rest of the cake in the safe. The Cake That Exceeded My Expectations was really the triumph of this glorious weekend.
Not to ignore the fact that being a mother to such an adorable, amazing, incredible kiddo isn't the triumph and the glory. Because yay motherhood! And, really, he does amaze me. Also, MY mom is not too shabby. She's the OG of motherhood, lemme tell you. She is 100% in charge. All roads lead to her, tho I imagine she would rather they didn't. I love her. But, again, that cake...
Oh wait! I forgot! Man, this weekend was one for the books. Wes finished the cabinets in the laundry area. Praise the heavens. But I'll save those details for another post. Because really that freakin cake was the grand finale. Happy Mother's Day.
On Thursday night, we bought me a new wheel barrow. (I know, I know! So lucky.) On Friday nothing occurred, which is sometimes a good thing. On Saturday, I awoke fairly well-rested. We all made ourselves presentable and went to Christianson's Nursery which is a hallowed place for plant lovers, and is a generally well-tolerated place for people who belong to plant lovers because they have those little flatbed carts. Buck commandeered the little flatbed cart. I tried not to be stressed about this. Mostly, I let Wes and Buck be a team and I let myself ignore them because I was on a mission. I was NOT the only mother there on Mother's Day weekend, however, so I really had to self-advocate to get the plants I wanted. I moved fast, in a zone if you will, from section to section, greenhouse to greenhouse. Wes and Buck did a decent job of keeping up with me even though I was ignoring them. In the end, I found exactly what I wanted, plus a few other temptations. And equally fantastic and impressive, the boys maintained a good attitude and lots of patience, and nobody got hurt by the little flatbed cart. It wasn't even Mother's Day yet and already things were incredibly groovy!
I am no plant/gardening expert, by any stretch of the imagination. I try. The first few years of living here with an actual yard to start from scratch with, I was both super excited and totally overwhelmed. At this time of year, when I yearn to plant things, I'm usually postured firmly between enthusiasm and ignorance. For several Mother's Days, we've gone to the Master Gardener's big mega intensely overwhelming sale at the fair grounds. I would fall into a bit of a trance and fill my arms with various plant mysteries, and go home and need a nap. But this spring, my garden has felt less mysterious. I know exactly what I want to do, and where. I even know most of the names for this trunk full of plants you see. Viburnum, daphne, fuchsia, geranium, sweet peas, Hollandia broom, and a thing called a rhodohypoxis which sounds like a medieval disease but is really the absolutely cutest little thing you've ever seen. I think one reason I've been eager to learn about gardening is just to gather up all these new and amazing words. There are so many words. I am so jealous of the green thumbs out there that have all these delicious words in their brains. (Also, I think my new personal motto is 'there are so many words.')
Saturday afternoon, Wes and I went on a hike and then out to an early dinner. It has been sunny in Skagit Valley so everyone else also went on the same hike that day. Lots of humans. But I didn't let it get to me. We had a great time. When we were almost to the lookout, Wes pushed past me and ran the rest of the way so the people already there would think he was a super badass. Typical.
When we got home that night, I made a flourless chocolate cake. I'd never made a flourless chocolate cake before, but I really like to eat them, so I had a lot of hope in that cake. The next day, we went to the opening day of the Edison Farmer's Market where I got to hold my friend's baby Eloise and lull her to sleep in my arms. It was a delightful Mother's Day nugget of an experience. I also really, really enjoyed handing that sleeping baby back to her daddy. Thank you and thank you. Later, Buck and I drove to my parents' house on Camano Island where we focussed on being very lazy. My mom and I talked about stuff and other stuff, and I made a ganache for the chocolate cake. My father was keeping a close eye on the cake. When we sat down to dinner, he slowly approached the table and gave me a very stern look while saying: "I don't see the main course." And then he sat down with an air of disappointment. Meaning, the cake ought to be the main course. This was hilarious and filled my heart so much that it still hurts to think of it.
I am really only here today to tell you how damn good that cake was. It tasted far better than it looked. The texture and consistency was even and silky. I'd used dark chocolate, and the taste was so deep, so evil, so luxurious that we've had to lock the rest of the cake in the safe. The Cake That Exceeded My Expectations was really the triumph of this glorious weekend.
Not to ignore the fact that being a mother to such an adorable, amazing, incredible kiddo isn't the triumph and the glory. Because yay motherhood! And, really, he does amaze me. Also, MY mom is not too shabby. She's the OG of motherhood, lemme tell you. She is 100% in charge. All roads lead to her, tho I imagine she would rather they didn't. I love her. But, again, that cake...
Oh wait! I forgot! Man, this weekend was one for the books. Wes finished the cabinets in the laundry area. Praise the heavens. But I'll save those details for another post. Because really that freakin cake was the grand finale. Happy Mother's Day.
Friday, May 4, 2018
Straw
Straws are bad. I've learned this loud and clear. The consciousness around bad straws is very loud and very prevalent right now. My kid has been instructing me for the better part of the school year on the forever and evil impact of the nefarious, single-use straw. NPR has been instructing me via various show topics about the malevolent presence of straws in our oceans and in the bodies of our ocean animals. The quantification of the straw impact is so mind-boggling that I can't remember it correctly. It's all: the number of single-use straws used in a day could circle around the earth twice, and six billion mega tons of straws are dumped in the ocean ever year, and here's the youtube video of the scientists painfully extracting the straw from the tortoise, and enough single-use straws are used every week to build the Eiffel Tower in every back yard of America, and all the straws that you've used in your life would weigh as much as seven pods of killer whales, and the straw is plastic which never goes away but only breaks down into tiny micro straw plastic particles that stay in our oceans and our bodies and our children's children's bodies forever causing endocrine disruption and death and surliness and disease and that is actually really terrifying, especially the forever micro particles aspect.
But I have some questions. Because I thought I was throwing away my straws into the garbage and that garbage was going into the dump and the landfill far from the ocean. How did those straws leave the landfill and end up in the ocean? Are people all over the world throwing theirs straws, just their straws, into the nearby ocean? Do the straws jump out of the landfill and dive into streams and waterways and wend their way to the oceans?
I am very guilty of the straw problem. Just think about all the Diet Cokes I drank in high school. How many times did I drive through somewhere and order a large Diet Coke and suck it down and slouch around and stare at boys? I did that, like, every twenty minutes. Single-use straws were complicit every time. Just think about the entire carbon footprint of that very ritual: the driving; the Diet Coke; the garbage; the swimming, single-use plastic straw; the slouching. I can't undo that rot. Not a single aspect of that ritual was good for me or my planet. And there is no Planet B.
So, what happens to the straw manufacturers? Do the Koch Brothers make 85% of all straws? What's at play here with the supply-and-demand of the straw marketplace? Can the straw makers make straws out of bamboo pulp or corn plastic or something that disintegrates or evaporates? I realize that nothing, no matter on earth, ever goes away. So, can we work on having new straws made of good stuff that we can throw in the oceans? Or is the request here that we just eradicate all straw use? Aside from, like, medical uses. There will be medical straws. Or there will be re-usable straws? I realize there already are re-usable straws. We have some laying around somewhere. So people are going to start toting around their reusable bpa-free aluminum straws then. I'm just working this through.
Back when I was young and had deeper thoughts, I used to think about what would happen if one day all the plastic in the world just vanished. I used to think what would that look like if it all vanished in 1960, and then by comparison what would happen if it all vanished in 1970, or 1980, or 1990, etc. I would imagine how empty our shelves would be, or how things would come crashing down, or airplanes would fall apart, or entire industries would face catastrophic despair... I have always been very preoccupied by "the olden days" and they certainly didn't have plastics in the olden days, so the olden days were better? A mind can spend a lot of time in this analysis.
Here's what I did. I've had this massive box of single-use straws for ages. We've been slowly making our way through them. I bought them before I knew I wasn't supposed to, for the record. Because, like I said, I thought my straws were going into the non-ocean garbage landfill, where they would not breakdown respectfully with the rest of the single-use plastic that we consume by the armfuls every day. (We're screwed.) So, recently I've started washing and re-using these single-use straws. They're the kinds with the bendy necks and they have the perky red stripe going down the side. I consume a fair amount of smoothies at home and I like to use a straw with them, so now I'm washing and re-using my straws. The washed straws have a special place in a drawer by the blender. The system has been working well.
The system works well when you THOROUGHLY wash the straw. Don't not-thoroughly wash the straw. The other day I made a smoothie. I grabbed a washed straw from the drawer by the blender. I smugly plopped that straw in my vanilla-protein-banana-rainbow-sparkle smoothie. I jubilantly sucked down my first taste of the smoothie. But something was very, very wrong. Something tasted rotten. I gagged. Pre-vomitted, really. But I knew what had happened. I hadn't washed the straw well enough. Old smoothie bits had turned to compost in my straw and I had sucked it down.
The only way I was going to survive the compost-in-the-straw incident was to move past it very quickly. I grabbed another washed straw from the drawer by the blender. I held it up to the light to see if any chunky bits of filth were lurking. (No.) And I plopped it in my smoothie and I sucked that smoothie down. It was delicious. I did throw that first filthy straw away, though. And throwing away a multi-used single-use straw was morally confusing, I admit. Because I'm not going to not use the straws I already have. Those straws already exist. They are already pre-garbage, like the majority of material we touch every day, and so I might as well use them. Slowly. Cleaning them thoroughly. Then I'll get my re-usable bamboo aluminum straw from REI or wherever. And thoroughly clean that one too.
But I have some questions. Because I thought I was throwing away my straws into the garbage and that garbage was going into the dump and the landfill far from the ocean. How did those straws leave the landfill and end up in the ocean? Are people all over the world throwing theirs straws, just their straws, into the nearby ocean? Do the straws jump out of the landfill and dive into streams and waterways and wend their way to the oceans?
I am very guilty of the straw problem. Just think about all the Diet Cokes I drank in high school. How many times did I drive through somewhere and order a large Diet Coke and suck it down and slouch around and stare at boys? I did that, like, every twenty minutes. Single-use straws were complicit every time. Just think about the entire carbon footprint of that very ritual: the driving; the Diet Coke; the garbage; the swimming, single-use plastic straw; the slouching. I can't undo that rot. Not a single aspect of that ritual was good for me or my planet. And there is no Planet B.
So, what happens to the straw manufacturers? Do the Koch Brothers make 85% of all straws? What's at play here with the supply-and-demand of the straw marketplace? Can the straw makers make straws out of bamboo pulp or corn plastic or something that disintegrates or evaporates? I realize that nothing, no matter on earth, ever goes away. So, can we work on having new straws made of good stuff that we can throw in the oceans? Or is the request here that we just eradicate all straw use? Aside from, like, medical uses. There will be medical straws. Or there will be re-usable straws? I realize there already are re-usable straws. We have some laying around somewhere. So people are going to start toting around their reusable bpa-free aluminum straws then. I'm just working this through.
Back when I was young and had deeper thoughts, I used to think about what would happen if one day all the plastic in the world just vanished. I used to think what would that look like if it all vanished in 1960, and then by comparison what would happen if it all vanished in 1970, or 1980, or 1990, etc. I would imagine how empty our shelves would be, or how things would come crashing down, or airplanes would fall apart, or entire industries would face catastrophic despair... I have always been very preoccupied by "the olden days" and they certainly didn't have plastics in the olden days, so the olden days were better? A mind can spend a lot of time in this analysis.
Here's what I did. I've had this massive box of single-use straws for ages. We've been slowly making our way through them. I bought them before I knew I wasn't supposed to, for the record. Because, like I said, I thought my straws were going into the non-ocean garbage landfill, where they would not breakdown respectfully with the rest of the single-use plastic that we consume by the armfuls every day. (We're screwed.) So, recently I've started washing and re-using these single-use straws. They're the kinds with the bendy necks and they have the perky red stripe going down the side. I consume a fair amount of smoothies at home and I like to use a straw with them, so now I'm washing and re-using my straws. The washed straws have a special place in a drawer by the blender. The system has been working well.
The system works well when you THOROUGHLY wash the straw. Don't not-thoroughly wash the straw. The other day I made a smoothie. I grabbed a washed straw from the drawer by the blender. I smugly plopped that straw in my vanilla-protein-banana-rainbow-sparkle smoothie. I jubilantly sucked down my first taste of the smoothie. But something was very, very wrong. Something tasted rotten. I gagged. Pre-vomitted, really. But I knew what had happened. I hadn't washed the straw well enough. Old smoothie bits had turned to compost in my straw and I had sucked it down.
The only way I was going to survive the compost-in-the-straw incident was to move past it very quickly. I grabbed another washed straw from the drawer by the blender. I held it up to the light to see if any chunky bits of filth were lurking. (No.) And I plopped it in my smoothie and I sucked that smoothie down. It was delicious. I did throw that first filthy straw away, though. And throwing away a multi-used single-use straw was morally confusing, I admit. Because I'm not going to not use the straws I already have. Those straws already exist. They are already pre-garbage, like the majority of material we touch every day, and so I might as well use them. Slowly. Cleaning them thoroughly. Then I'll get my re-usable bamboo aluminum straw from REI or wherever. And thoroughly clean that one too.
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