Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Hush, hush. I sin when I toothbrush.
Psssst. Wanna hear my secret eco-sin? I sometimes let the water run when brushing my teeth. (I also don't brush for the full two minutes, but that's more of a dental sin than an eco one.) I can't stand the feeling of a mouth full of froth without the sound of running water promising an imminent, satisfying rinse. I even get a little desperate in the dentist chair between rinsings.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Bet Your Grass I'm Guilty
So I have this mini strip of grass in front of my house.
It's not quite a front lawn, at least not like the one I grew up with, which was my father's pride and joy and the envy of all the dads on Bayside Drive. They had this Saturday morning competition in which they'd race their Toros out of their 4-car garages, rev-em-up and play NASCAR with their lush Kentucky bluegrass until lunch and their SloppyJoes. In the afternoon, they would prune and patch. Then they'd turn on the sprinklers until Cocktail Hour.
All I wanted was a smidgen of this. A cool green length of grass thick enough so to hide a gopher or two. A place where Kabuki the Cat could chase her beloved potato bugs. I dared to dream, even, of cutting it myself with my on-sale-at-OSH rotary mower.
Fast forward and step outside. The only way to keep this parched, lumpy, crabby grass green is to water the hell out of it. Sure, it's okay this week, with the rainstorms we've had recently. But everytime I look at it, I know the truth: it's gotta go. Because by August, the heat here in the Valley will transform it into a thatch of yellow straw not unlike my current hairstyle. We match, my lawn n moi.
I don't dare turn on the underground sprinklers. The last time I did, my water bill jumped to $623 and a scary Cal Am guy showed up. The Water Police! Even the dog didn't bark. We all knew I was guilty.
It's not quite a front lawn, at least not like the one I grew up with, which was my father's pride and joy and the envy of all the dads on Bayside Drive. They had this Saturday morning competition in which they'd race their Toros out of their 4-car garages, rev-em-up and play NASCAR with their lush Kentucky bluegrass until lunch and their SloppyJoes. In the afternoon, they would prune and patch. Then they'd turn on the sprinklers until Cocktail Hour.
All I wanted was a smidgen of this. A cool green length of grass thick enough so to hide a gopher or two. A place where Kabuki the Cat could chase her beloved potato bugs. I dared to dream, even, of cutting it myself with my on-sale-at-OSH rotary mower.
Fast forward and step outside. The only way to keep this parched, lumpy, crabby grass green is to water the hell out of it. Sure, it's okay this week, with the rainstorms we've had recently. But everytime I look at it, I know the truth: it's gotta go. Because by August, the heat here in the Valley will transform it into a thatch of yellow straw not unlike my current hairstyle. We match, my lawn n moi.
I don't dare turn on the underground sprinklers. The last time I did, my water bill jumped to $623 and a scary Cal Am guy showed up. The Water Police! Even the dog didn't bark. We all knew I was guilty.
From Freezer Bags to Fiji Water . . .
It's clear that Father Al is going to be handing out a lot of Penance. I hope everyone loves organic lentils and composting.
Father Al, I Have Eco-Sinned By . . .
Mon dieu, my guilty eco-sin has to be my addiction to Crystal Geyser.
Gallons of it. Polluting plastic bottles that aren't about to bio-degrade anytime in the next 200 years.
How am to quell my quivering, quavering desire for this alleged alpine spring water? Even Britta + tap doesn't come close to that crystalline taste.
And then there's my love affair with paper towels . . .
Gallons of it. Polluting plastic bottles that aren't about to bio-degrade anytime in the next 200 years.
How am to quell my quivering, quavering desire for this alleged alpine spring water? Even Britta + tap doesn't come close to that crystalline taste.
And then there's my love affair with paper towels . . .
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