earthgirl (5 page)

“What?” she yelled at a volume that was extreme even for her.

As per usual, she was all jocked out in her latest yoga-slash-running-slash-kickboxing outfit. No doubt fantasizing about some international competition despite her sorry lack of athleticism.

“Ask next time you borrow something,” I groaned, pointlessly putting out my hand for the iPod.

“What's that got to do with making me see your stuff in the toilet?” she asked as she slipped the cans off her ears, barged in and glared over my shoulder at my homework. Which was actually not exactly homework, but a bunch of potentially embarrassing doodles of Vray's and my name that I quickly covered from her nosy eyeballs.

“If it's yellow let it mellow. If it's brown flush it down,” I
said, trying to shoo her back by extending my foot in a mock stretch.

“That's so completely gross,” she whined.

“No it's not. Every time you flush the toilet, seventeen liters go down the drain.”

“Yeah? So what's your point?” she snorted as she put her hands on her hips and cracked her gum.

“That it's not mandatory to flush every time you take a wee,” I sighed, already exhausted by her since it could hardly be more obvious. And she could hardly be more exhausting.

“Who died and made you queen of the bathroom?” she asked as she expertly picked her way through my make-up collection on the dresser before settling (of course) on my very fave, now-discontinued lip color.

I leaned forward and grabbed it out of her hand. She cracked her gum again louder. It made me want to rip it out of her mouth.

“In Singapore it's illegal to chew gum unless you have a medical exemption,” I said. “And anyone found dealing gum can be sentenced to up to two years in prison.”

“You're completely crazy,” Clare answered. “First of all this is Canada and second of all, I'm so telling Mom.” She flicked her ponytail and swiveled in her sparkly runners toward the door.

“Ireland taxes it to help pay for the mess it makes on streets,” I yelled through the slamming door.

Chew on that for a while.

Brat.

e a r t h g i r l
all plastic is not fantastic
[ October 7th | 08:33pm ]
[ mood | bewildered ]
[ music | Cat Power — The Greatest]

Though it's impossible to imagine a world without plastic [heck, I'm typing this on a plastic keyboard, guided by a plastic mouse, sending it down plastic coated cables into the rest of the plastic universe] might it not be possible to give up on the humble yet not so humble plastic grocery bag?

In Ontario, 2.5 billion plastic bags are sent to landfill each year! Plastic bags made of natural gas and oil, that take 400 years to biodegrade and leach into water, etc.

I'm not a total fool or hypocrite here. I know we need plastic. But I also know we don't need plastic bags. Proof? In Ireland they put a 25 cent tax on them and consumption dropped by 90%. I may move to Ireland. The isle of green. Land of the leprechaun. Land of less ucky gum and plastic detritus!

link                                                                                            read 5 | post
www.planetark.com

altalake 10-07 11:58
At the age of 6 months, the average Canadian has consumed the same amount of resources as an average person in the developing world. There
are 6.5 billion people in the world.
www.census.gov/ipc/www/world.html

onederful 10-08 00:13
In Mumbai, pollution from plastic bags is so bad, it clogs the sewer system and causes flooding. Over 700 tonnes of garbage is dumped each day and 20% is plastic bags. In China, used Styrofoam packaging is called white pollution. And 16% of Russia is so toxic, it's uninhabitable. It also has a name: ECOCIDE.

e a r t h g i r l
[ October 08th | 07:33am ]
Wow! Thanks for sharing those scary stats guys!
Seriously. :) And thanks especially for taking me seriously.
Seriously.

The Environmental Action League benefit was the following Sunday afternoon. I was totally choked to see I'd been skedded to work at the exact time the concert would be going off. Since I was only a few shifts into my new job, I was terrified to ask Tom the co-op manager to move things around.

So much for my recently amassed karma points. This was a big fat cosmic wrench. I only wished I hadn't promised the delicious Vray Foret I'd be there and maybe played harder to get. Or at least acted indifferently interested and not super-dooper keen interested. Now Vray would think I was unreliable, a poseur and a liar. That is, if he ever bothered to think about me again.

I must have been staring at the poster like a lovestruck zombie or something when I sensed someone behind me.

“The Monkey Wrench Gang bite.” It was Ruby, this totally awesome eco-conscious art college girl who had worked at the co-op on and off since high school. “But their hearts are in the right places so that counts for something, I guess.”

“It keeps them living and breathing,” I sighed. “Guess you're going, right?”

“I'd rather have your shift if you want to go,” she said calmly.

“Really?”

“Sure,” she smiled back. “I can always use the extra hours and from what Tom says, you're here to expand your world view and not being here next weekend is the ideal way.”

“I really appreciate it,” I gushed.

“No biggie. I'm happy to do it,” she said as she turned to go back to work.

Amazing. She barely knew me, yet she was still so kind and cooperative. Then again, this was a co-op, so maybe it just went with the territory. What a strange and exciting new world.

•••

The plan was for Carmen and Ella to meet me at Lee's Palace, this club on Bloor Street in the University of Toronto neighborhood called the Annex. The flyer said the concert started at four. I figured that was since it was an all-ages show and probably the only time the club, which was an actual bar, was available.

There were two bands listed, but I'd forgotten to ask Vray if he was in the Ruby-panned Monkey Wrench Gang or OZone. I hoped he was in O-Zone. And since I didn't know who was on first and didn't want to risk missing a nanosecond of Vray on stage, or anywhere, I decided to be punctual. Also, who knew if the benefit would sell out and I'd be stuck without a ticket.

Not wanting to appear too keen or geeky, I stalled on the sidewalk for ten minutes scanning the mishmash of posters stapled, taped and pasted on the hydro poles. There were
sure a lot of cheap movers, yoga/Pilates classes and vintage movies around.

Finally, when it seemed like it would be okay to go in, I did. This waifish girl with big thick knotted dreadlocks in a Mohawk stamped a turtle on my fist in exchange for my five dollars.

Aside from a couple of musician-looking guys and two girls at a table with a homemade banner with a cartoon of the earth, the joint was empty. I wasn't sure if I should go back out and wait for the girls or wander in, but since I was this far and my shoes were practically stuck to the goopy floor, I ventured toward the info table.

The bar smelled like stale beer and feet. And it was incredibly dark and unattractive. No wonder people drank in places like this.

I had just picked up a pamphlet on global warming when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“You made it,” Vray said as I spun around, nearly knocking him over.

“I said I would,” I answered, hoping he might step close enough that his cinnamon scent would kill the stench of old socks.

“Pretty shite turnout.” He gestured toward the empty room. “Can't believe how apathetic people are about doing the right thing.”

“It's still early,” I said, even though I was totally clueless about whether anyone else was coming. If even my best chiquitas would be there or would bail when they caught a whiff of the kinda lame action.

“True, and the people who don't show will be sorry they missed out,” he said. “Years from now they'll all be claiming they were at the historic gig of two seminal bands.”

“So who plays first?” I asked.

“O-Zone, that's my band. Well it's not really mine exactly since ownership is such a bourgeois concept, but I founded it.”

“Cool,” I said, because I didn't know what else to say and it seemed like I should say something.

“It's from the Greek for smell,” he explained, and I couldn't help thinking how appropriate that was, considering I had my nose plugged as best I could. And also wishing I had a dictionary handy to look up any new words Vray might toss my way.

“Monkey Wrench Gang is a cute name for a band,” I gushed, immediately wishing I had something more impressive to say.

“It's hardly cute. They're named for a rad collective of eco-warriors, earth liberators and forest saviors.”

“Like Julia Butterfly Hill?” I asked, thrilled that I actually now knew something about people on the frontlines of the tree movement.

“The chick who lived in the tree?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Poetic, don't you think?”

“If you consider having a Simpson's episode based on you cool. Not that I wouldn't be down with a tribute like that. It's just not why I'm into the cause, you know,” he said, though I absolutely didn't know. “I'm not exactly into the touchy-feely thing as the kind of action that will save the world.”

“So what would you do instead?” I asked, genuinely curious and imagining loud protests full of cargo-pant-wearing bandana-masked hoodlums dodging tear gas and police on horses (something that seemed equal parts thrilling and terrifying).

“Well,” he sighed, looking at me with his big green eyes, “the band is one thing, for sure. Music is a good way to get the message out there. I mean, look at Zack de la Rocha or that Bono dude. But I have a few other tricks up my sleeve. Stuff that definitely gets noticed and will make a difference in how people act in the future.”

I was dying to hear more, but just then I spotted Carmen and Ella across the room. Carmen had on her holier-than-thou scowl, which I guess wasn't really surprising. This was definitely not her scene, even if she was a good enough friend to suck it up and pretend it might be fun before she and Darren hooked up for the night. Ella had her usual sweet oblivious grin plastered across her face.

Carmen caught my eye and they bolted from the information table like it might be toxic and scooted over.

“This is Vray and this is Ella and Carmen,” I said, realizing what an odd mix we were. Vray all ratty and secondhand and my two best gals in designer duds.

“We've heard a lot about you,” Carmen said, her eyelashes batting like plastic spiders.

I wanted to elbow her in the side for being so obvious and embarrassing, but fortunately Vray didn't react to her comment unless you count his awesome smile getting bigger and more awesome.

There was an awkward hour-like moment while we all stood there sussing each other out and waiting for someone to say something.

Carmen broke the silence. “Darren's coming with Corey Crawford.”

“That's great,” I smiled, relieved there might be a few more people in the place, even if they were far from my fave people.

Then we half nodded our heads at each other in silence for one of those seconds that lasts six years.

“Well, I'd stay and chat, but I've gotta book, so thanks for coming and inviting people,” Vray said, breaking the lull as he boxed me softly on the shoulder. “Sabine, you're definitely an asset to the cause.” And with that he turned and headed off toward the stage.

“That was so incredibly weird,” Carmen said.

“I know, that endless silence was pretty embarrassing,” I agreed, not sure whether to ask if they thought he was flirting as much as I hoped.

“Not that. The whole ‘asset to the cause' crap,” she scoffed. “Your massive YouTube debut flopped. How is that an asset to anything?”

Carmen's words felt like kicks in the gut, but I took a deep breath. It wasn't my fault the sleeping kittens won out over my almost fisticuffs with a lunatic.

“He's excited she's here. She's practically a local legend,” Ella jumped in, gushing. “Plus, she brought us to brighten the place up.”

“Yeah, well he should be,” Carmen agreed, looking
around at what couldn't even be called a thin crowd. In fact the word crowd barely figured into the equation at all.

“I think he's supremely yummy,” Ella said. “I'm not sure about the nose ring or grotty jeans, but maybe that's his trademark rockstar thing.”

I watched as Vray sat at the edge of the stage tinkering with a beat-up electric guitar in his lap and thought about how lucky I was that he'd walked into my life. If he hadn't, I'd be at the co-op stocking whole grain cereal.

Instead I was at this potentially cool concert for a cause, though what that cause was I wasn't exactly sure beyond the mysterious Environmental Action League moniker. And, I'd met serious guy with serious potential.

For the first time in my entire life I was getting to know a boy who was artistic and intense. Hunky yet concerned about the world, and not just if the Leafs would ever win the Stanley Cup again, or if he'd have his parents' car on the weekend. Someone I had things in common with. Real things, not stupid school things like if Mr. Butler would ever get the message about the breath mints people left on his desk, or if poor Corey Crawford would ever not be boring.

I was in bad. And I was in deep. And it felt absolutely exhilarating!

•••

A few songs into O-Zone's set, there were about two dozen people in the still essentially empty bar. I tried to ignore the lack of support and instead concentrated on Vray. He thrashed at his guitar and bounced around the stage
screaming stuff about smog and sediments (or maybe he was saying sentiment). His voice was raspy and a little tuneless, but what he lacked in actual talent, he definitely made up for in enthusiasm and energy.