earthgirl (3 page)

lacklusterlulu 19-29 23:53 (link) select
easy peasy get some new friends!

MachFhive 09-30 02:03
Yo bike freekz, if it had been me, Id have run you down. Splat.

“How much?” Carmen asked sweetly as she waved a little pink purse in front of a bored-looking street vendor setting up his table.

It was a sunny not-quite-crunchy fall Saturday after the
incident, and my girlz were hanging with me before my shift at a popular retail outlet that rhymes with nap. Somehow, at barely eleven a.m., we were downtown roaming Queen West for bargoons. Not that we exactly needed anything. It was just our ritual.

But today's version felt different for me. I felt different. It was like I was there but wasn't, watching the action like a spectator. And honestly, I didn't much like what I saw.

“For you, fabulous deal,” the street vendor smiled. His right eyetooth was capped in gold. It flared in the sunlight.

“Well, I know that,” Carmen cooed, blinking her eyelashes, “but you still didn't say how much.”

“Twenty dollar each, three for fifty dollar,” he said as Ella checked the zipper on a little yellow bag.

“Thanks, I don't want one,” I announced.

BTI, or Before the Incident, I'd have gone for the deal. But standing there looking at the table full of trendy plastic purses, I lost my appetite for shopping. I lost my appetite for having something for the sake of just...having it. Zap, gone, just like my appetite for plum-goo-slathered chicken fingers after I found myself wearing them.

“But it's a pseudo Prada!” Carmen insisted, sniffing it and rubbing it across her cheek. “And even better, it's a steal.”

“What do you need another fake bag for?”

“I prefer to call them tributes,” Carmen said. “How much for two?”

“Two,” the vendor said very slowly, like he was considering whether or not he'd donate his kidney. “For you, twenty
dollars each. And these not fake. Real quality, top notch.”

“That's not a deal!” Carmen pouted, putting down the pink purse abruptly and starting to walk away.

It was always like this. She loved haggling with the guys who sold things on the street. Especially pretty things she wanted to have, but didn't need. That all of us didn't remotely need, but would definitely be a better deal if we bought in bulk. For her it was a form of entertainment. And ours by default, I guess.

But at this particular moment it wasn't the least bit entertaining to me. It was actually a tad nauseating.

“Take three,” the vendor insisted, holding out a lime green bag to me. “Is very beautiful. Very in.”

I took the bag and unzipped it, then pulled out a wad of rough tissue stuffing and looked for a label to see where it had come from. How far this stylish thing had traveled to end up on this folding table in downtown Toronto being sold for a pittance.

“Where's it made?” I asked as Carmen pretended to look at the silver rings and trinkets on the next table.

“Italy,” he grinned without missing a beat. “Is genwin Prada, see label?”

“They are very beautiful,” Ella agreed. “And an excellent deal.”

Carmen gave her a little hoof in the shin followed by a glare.

“What?” Ella moaned.

“They're not an excellent deal,” Carmen hissed at her through clenched teeth. “But they could be.”

“The person who made this probably got paid five cents an hour,” I announced. “That's why they're so cheap.”

“Not cheap.” The vendor snatched the little bag from my hands. “Very top quality.”

“Well, things probably don't cost as much where they are,” Ella answered, running her hand softly over the stitching. “And you don't know, maybe five cents an hour is a lot of money there.”

“You can't really believe that,” I said. “That's less than a dollar a day. Nobody can live on that.”

“You don't know how much they get paid, Sabine,” Carmen chimed in. “Besides, I thought you were all hopped up about garbage. Since when did you start caring about someone making Prada knock-offs in China or Bolivia or whereveria? You work at the Gap.”

“It's Gap, not the,” Ella corrected. “Hey, can you get me one of those kicky orange hoodies on your discount before they sell out?”

“This is garbage. It's unnecessary, disposable crap,” I replied, almost slamming my fist on the table. “Your life is fine without it.”

“I'm aware of that, dummy. It's a little purse,” Carmen said sensibly. “But that doesn't mean I want to live without it. Seriously, Sabine, you can't possibly think if we don't buy these they'll suddenly stop making them? Besides, then that poor worker in the Third World armpit won't even make a buck a day and their whole family will starve. Then how will you feel? Two for thirty, final offer.”

Carmen held out thirty dollars to the vendor, who hesitated
for a second before accepting it with a greedy grab.

“Have a nice day,” the vendor beamed as he added the money to a honking wad of cash from his pant pocket.

“You, too,” Ella sang, waving her shiny yellow bag at him.

“Don't be doing that again,” Carmen warned as she leaned up against a fire hydrant and transferred the contents of her practically new tiny red purse into her extremely brand spanking new miniature pink one. “Swear off shopping if you want. It doesn't mean I have to.”

“Don't you realize that just because something is a good deal for you, it might be a crap deal for someone else?” I said.

“So?” Ella asked as she modeled her little yellow shoulder bag in front of a store window. “Look how stylin' it is.”

“So,” I said, “maybe we should be thinking about things like that when we buy things, that's all.”

“That's a relief,” Carmen laughed. “I thought she was going to say,
IF
we buy things.”

“Thinking about everyone else, huh?” Ella mused. “Nice idea, but I'll pass. Kinda takes all the fun out of it.”

b e i n g h e r e
consumer defiance!!!!!
[ Sept. 29th | 06:39pm ]
[ mood | empowered! ]
[ music | green day — boulevard of broken dreams (apropos or what?!?!) ]

SPONTANEOUS NON-CONSUMPTION: The impulsive instinct to NOT buy something. It's exhilarating and liberating! Seriously.

Think about it. Is fashion really worth enslaving someone on the other side of the world? Is tyranny and selfishness actually fashionable? Rhetorical question.

The point is let's just try to think more about NEED versus WANT. What we actually, truly, definitely require to function in this world and not just all the things the ads and commercials TELL US we want or SHOULD have. To be better, cooler, wiser, more complete!!!

Maybe the secret of being a good consumer is not being a consumer at all.

THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT INCLUDE A GIFT SHOP.

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www.storyofstuff.com
www.responsibleshopper.org

lacklusterlulu 09-29 22:22
Looks like you're a green bean now :) Welcome to the light side sister.
www.behindthelabel.org

“You know that big natural food store beside Thompson's Hardware?” I asked Mom as she tore into a jumbo-sized box of garlic marinated chicken breasts. Like we were a family of fourteen rather than a garden-variety family of four.

I was fishing for her reaction to a place that didn't sell things in packages of a thousand so you could stock up for the next two hundred years every other weekend. Fishing to see if the sudden, subtle changes happening in me could influence or inspire any changes in her.

“I know if I'm ever in the market for chicken raised at a spa or thirty-dollar lettuce that's where I'd go,” she answered.

“It's not thirty dollars for lettuce. And if the food is slightly more, that's because it's organic. Certified, even, chemical and pesticide free, which is better for your health.”

“Oh,” she nodded, looking up at me from the cutting board. “And this public service announcement wouldn't have anything to do with the little incident the other day, right?”

“Not exactly. Well, indirectly, maybe,” I blurted. “And I start working there tomorrow.”

To avoid her gaze I opened the fridge and snooped for something to munch. There were regular probably pesticide-soaked apples and processed cheese sticks in an unnatural shade of fluorescent orange. I settled on a kosher pickle.

“That's nice for you,” she said, trying to not sound surprised but sounding incredibly surprised. “What happened to your other job?”

“I quit. They needed people at the Fresh Co-op and I thought it would be more interesting, maybe educational. And don't worry, I gave notice and all that.”

“But they gave you such a great staff discount,” she sighed.

“And I spent half my pay there on things I don't really need, while selling other people things they probably don't need,” I answered as I crunched the pickle loudly to drown out her voice.

“So you don't need to wear clothes at the co-op? I didn't realize you'd turned into a nudist, too. Grab a few potatoes from under the sink,” she pointed. “And if you're suddenly a vegetarian, see what's in the fridge that you approve of and get cooking. I'm not running a restaurant.”

“Why are you making fun of me? All I did was get a new job. You should be encouraging me. I'm a good responsible daughter, you know.”

“I know you are. I just didn't think your little encounter would, I don't know, change so much.”

“You mean standing up for cleaner public spaces or waking up from the consumer coma we call life?”

“Don't be so melodramatic, Bean. You know I'm proud
that you stood up for yourself. Just don't blame me if I wish the entire world didn't see you having a scuffle with someone.”

“And don't blame me. I didn't litter and I didn't video it or post it for that matter. I can't help it if I lived it, you know.”

“You're right, honey,” she said, washing her hands with antibacterial dish soap and wiping them dry on her jeans.

She stepped over to hug me and I stiffened. I was mad she wasn't happy that I was suddenly interested in the world. Moms are supposed to be supportive. At least to your face, anyway. If they have to make fun of you it's usually with your dad and behind your back. At least it should be.

“It's just one minute you're this fashion-obsessed teenager and I blink and you're a tree hugger,” she sighed. “You can see where I might be a bit confused.”

“I'm still me. I'm just trying to be a better me.”

“I am proud of you,” she smiled. “I really, truly am. And I'm sorry if I overreacted or was a little embarrassed. That's my thing and I shouldn't make it yours. Just like if something is your thing, you shouldn't make it ours.”

“Even if —”

“You want respect, show a little back,” she answered. “And please, promise me you won't stop showering. And if you decide to go live in the forest and I don't visit, it's only because I really hate bugs.”

b e i n g h e r e...still
UP A TREE WITHOUT A LADDER (or a paddle!!!)
[ Oct 1st | 11:03pm ]
[ mood | optimistic ]
[ music | The Hideout - Sarah Harmer ]

once upon a time, a brave girl with the coincidentally poetic name JULIA BUTTERFLY HILL climbed a huge, ancient tree in California to defend it from the anti-tree peeps salivating to cut it down, their gnarly chainsaws revving – gerrrrrzzz.

did she stay a few days? weeks? nope. SHE STAYED FOR TWO YEARS! she actually put down roots (ha!) in a tree and for over SEVEN HUNDRED DAYS!!! IN A TREE!!!

now birds and squirrels live in trees but even they leave once and a while to check out the ‘hood or have a swim or a date or gather food. not her. she lived in that tree like she belonged there. like it was the most normal thing in the world.

the people supporting her tree sit rigged a pulley to send up food and water and books and letters of encouragement. they must have really loved and admired her since I imagine they also had to pulley down her garbage and laundry and yikes — poop! i mean really, what else did she do with it?

i wonder if she was ever lonely or bored or afraid? i wunder if her mom ever brought sprout sandwiches?

PS: she saved the tree!! :)
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comment
www.circleoflifefoundation.org
www.ecotopia.org/ehof/hill

onederful 10-01 11:53“We are constantly being told we are the leaders of tomorrow, that's a lie. We are the leaders of today.” Julia Butterfly Hill. Words to live by!
BTW yer new postings rock. And I love rocks...and trees too!

altalake 10-01 23:58
Today, you are in a place to take the lead. No pressure.

“So, you working here now?” the most gorgeous guy I'd ever seen asked as he stood in front of me sniffing a fair trade cantaloupe.

I'd hoped quitting the Gap gig and forfeiting my oh-so-excellent merchandise deal to get a job at the health food coop would serve up karma points. And here was evidence standing right in front of me. All six or so fabulous feet of it.

I nodded and smiled. I hoped I wouldn't fall over or throw up.

“What happened to Josie?” he asked. “True she got busted for dealing meth?”

“I wouldn't know,” I said softly, which was only half true.
I'd actually heard the girl I replaced was a tweaker who tried to deal out of the co-op, but didn't think it was my business to say. For all I knew this scorching hottie was one of her customers or even a baby-faced narc or worse maybe he was the big cheese supplier looking for a new kid to do his dirty work. I really hoped not. He was tall and fit and sonically cute and it would be a total drag if he turned out to be a big drug-dealing loser.