earthgirl (9 page)

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onederful 11-11 10:04
Today on remembrance day, important things to remember in addition to the brave people who fought for our freedom. We harvest less than 3% of the world's energy from the sun. But all is not lost in some enlightened places. Iceland harnesses thermodynamic power from steaming vents underground. Denmark gets 20% of its power from wind mills and hopes to make that 50% soon. And Portugal is building the world's largest solar power station. Obrigado! (that's thank you in Portuguese)
www.solarbuzz.com

altalake 11-11 21:33
Obviously the sun always shines in Portugal! Remember your UV sunscreen hat and water (in a refillable BPA-free bottle!)

“What's going on?” Dad asked as he slammed his car door shut with the kind of purpose that suggested he wanted attention. Immediately.

“Finn and Vray are helping move the fridge to the curb.”
I explained what was clearly obvious, but obviously in need of explaining.

“That much I can see,” Dad answered, taking in the scene on our front lawn. “I probably should have asked why you and your shaggy new buddies are dumping my beer fridge.”

“It's an energy-guzzling piece of junk, Daddy,” I answered, gesturing toward what used to be the fridge, but was now a hulking box of open metal, a door and some rust-tinged shelving and drawers.

“Sabine's right,” Vray chimed in. “It's ancient and might even have CFCs. Very toxic and surprisingly expensive to run.”

“Thank you...” Dad paused leaning forward a bit and waiting for a response from Vray.

“Vray, Vray Foret. Good to meet you, sir,” he answered, wiping his rusty, gooky hands on his thighs and shaking my dad's.

“It was my idea, actually,” I announced. “Vray and Finn were just helping me. And I called the city to pick it up so don't worry. They'll be here Wednesday.”

“Sabine, I don't want to embarrass you in front of your new friends,” Dad said, pulling me aside a bit and speaking in his best Dad voice. “But I didn't ask you to do this and, at the very least, you should have asked me.”

“But you'd have said no,” I answered.

“You're right. That's why you should have asked.”

“Um, Mr. Solomon, if you don't mind me saying so.” Finn waded calmly into the middle. “Ditching this clunker will save heaps of money in the long run, both in terms of electricity costs and spoiled beer. I mean, quality beer – and
I'll go out on a limb here and figure you for the quality stuff – doesn't really last longer than a month or two, so no sense storing too much.”

“You've forgotten the additional costs of driving to the beer store more often since I now don't have a beer fridge, antique or otherwise,” Dad answered. “And aren't you a bit young to be drinking?”

“I don't,” Finn answered. “My sister's boyfriend told me about the stale thing.”

“You don't even like beer much,” Mom's voice chimed from the door to the garage. “Besides, it'll free up space for the rest of your junk.”

“See?” I said. “Everyone is happy.”

“Not quite, honey. You still haven't introduced me to your new boyfriend,” Mom replied.

I cringed when she said the word. Not that I didn't like to think that maybe Vray was my boyfriend. It's just that he never precisely said he was, and now suddenly she was announcing it right in front of him and his BMF. It was epically embarrassing and made me wish I were an ostrich with the power to drill my head into driveway pavement.

“Let me guess, you must be Vray,” she beamed, walking down the three steps toward us and straight for Finn who, though not exactly clean cut, was the tidier of the pair.

“Actually Mrs. S., that'd be me,” Vray said as he tried to tuck in his overstretched T-shirt and gave me a wink. “Sabine's told me a lot about you.”

“I'm sure she has,” Mom said, leaning in coyly and practically
flirting
! “Mysteriously, she hasn't told us much about
you, so I think you'll have to stay for dinner. And your moving buddy, too.”

“It's Finn, and thanks, but I've gotta go,” Finn answered. “I'm volunteering at the animal shelter tonight.”

“That's really good of you,” Mom said, sounding genuinely impressed.

“Not really,” Finn replied. “I'm just trying to find homes for abandoned animals so they don't get snuffed. Ticking clock down there.”

And then Finn gave Vray one of those strange, secret, guy club props handshakes and patted him on the back. His bike was by the curb, where the remains of the fridge now lay in pieces. He jumped on it and rode off waving behind him.

By this point Mom had gathered up Dad and his gym bag of squash gear and was herding him up the front path.

“Haven't you told him about me?” Vray asked after the parentals had gone back into the house to no doubt dish and scheme.

“Not exactly,” I answered, though not at all would have been more accurate.

“Why not?”

“Cause he's my dad and he's so embarrassing, as you just witnessed.”

“He's just a dad,” Vray shrugged. “And it might have been nice if you'd told him about me so I wouldn't forever be known as ‘the boy who trashed my beer fridge.'”

“You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just new at all this. The boyfriend-girlfriend thing, the getting-rid-of-unnecessary-stuff
thing. That trying-to-change-the-world-and-be-abetter-person thing. All of it.”

“It's okay,” Vray said, sweeping me up into one of his delicious knee-buckling hugs. “You can tell people I exist. I'm not going anywhere.”

“So then,” I paused, feeling elated and exhausted all at once, “you are my boyfriend?”

He laughed and squeezed me. And suddenly, all I could think of besides melting into his arms was running away with him and living in a big treehouse above the forests and fields with the blue sky and the birds and animals all around us. Totally cornball and ridiculous, but I guess that's what love does. It makes you crazy and silly. And, sometimes if you're supremely lucky, it makes you care in a whole new way.

•••

As if I needed to be more amazed and impressed, Vray handled dinner like a complete pro. I figured he'd been blindsided by the invitation and nervous to boot. But he wasn't the teeniest bit thrown or ruffled by my embarrassing parentals or my cringingly nosy sister. Maybe it was all the practice he'd had with his own mom and dad's friends, but he was totally surprising. In only the best possible ways.

When my mom offered him a roast beef sandwich slathered in globby synthetic gravy, instead of going off about cruel practices in the cattle industry, he simply and very politely settled for some tomato slices on a bun. And not even a whole grain bun.

Definite bonus points for excellent table manners to cancel points lost for chucked fridge fiasco.

“They're not organic or even local,” I whispered to the side of his face, trying not to breathe in the grassy lime smell of his hair, in case I fainted in front of my entire family. “I'm trying to convince her, but she usually just goes to the superstore up on Yonge Street and even then straight to the cheap stuff.”

“It's more convenient,” Mom shot back, giving me the hairy eyeball. (I never realized she could lip read or had such spooky good ears.) “I told you to bring food home from the co-op if it's so important to you. Baby steps, kiddo, baby steps.”

“It's okay,” he said, giving my thigh a little pat under the table. “I'm pretty adaptable.”

“What's the deal with your name?” Clare asked.

“It's just a name,” Vray said, offering her his killer smile.

“A stupid name.” Clare snorted what I'm pretty sure my parents were probably thinking, too, but were too civilized to point out.

“Clare, Vray's a guest,” Dad said in a tone that actually sounded like he was trying to not laugh.

“I know,” she said, her head bobbing and her mouth full of roast beef and bun mush. “A guest with a dumb name, no offense.”

“None taken,” Vray answered. The guy's technique with parents and stupid sisters was a marvel to behold.

Later when we were finally sprung from dinner and went upstairs, I realized it was the first ever time I'd had a boy I
actually liked in my room. As it was, boy visits were few and far between except for the occasional homework assignment or my neighbor Kenny hanging out playing crazy eights or backgammon when we were twelve. And even though my parents could be freakishly random at times, I was happy I didn't have some goofy rule about male visitors. Carmen's mom wouldn't even let Darren go upstairs, as if that would stop them from making out like minxes any chance they got.

Vray was lounging back on my bed getting comfy, which included crushing my darling Pokemon plushy behind his back. I watched, unsure whether to alert him, but decided it would sound babyish. It was, after all, a pillow. A pillow that along with Chichi and his fake furry friends should have been exiled to a time way before boys lounged in my room, on my bed with me. Oopsy.

“Someone should invent a videogame like Grand Theft Auto but instead of car thieves, the dudes are eco-warriors blowing away polluters and corporate assholes ruining the planet. Then all the carnage would have a point, carnage for carnage,” he said as he squished the yellow blob into a comfy position behind his dreamy mop of curls.

“Like an eye for an eye?” I asked, trying to figure out if he was joking or serious.

“Yeah, that might be the best way to get people to change. I mean, you yelling at that lady in Kensington was amusing, but in the end it didn't achieve much, even with the web exposure.”

“So you want to threaten and hurt people?” I wondered, sitting down at the foot of the bed and looking at him
lounging there all cozy on my bed. In my room. ON MY BED!

“Maybe. The really bad ones. Now come here and kiss me or I'll have to tickle you for a week.” He tugged on my belt loop to bring me closer to him.

“My parents are downstairs!” I said, trying to be shocked, but unable to wipe the massive smile off my face. I was terrified and excited, the little electrical shocks sparking in my fingertips again.

As soon as I slumped down on top of him, his mouth was against mine again. Soft and warm and wet and delicious and dizzying, and I started to forget where I was or how I got there or what he'd even said a few minutes before. His gorgeous, daring hands twisting under my T-shirt, pressing and flicking against my tummy. My barenaked tummy!

“Ah! Gross!” Clare groaned at the door. “Get a room.”

“Do you mind!” I shouted bolting up from where I was melted against Vray's warm chest. “This is a room,
my
room and there's something called knocking?!”

“Dad wants to know if Vray wants a ride home,” she said as I adjusted my tangled shirt back to almost normal.

“A ride would be great,” Vray said, not the least bit embarrassed that we'd been caught necking madly.

“Um, in the car? With my dad?” I was a little freaked he'd willingly subject himself to that.

“Fine, I'll go tell him,” Clare said, even though she stood in the doorway gawking like she was glued to the spot.

“Why not? I'll put my bike in the trunk and this way you've got me at your mercy for a few more minutes.”

“Ah, Clare, you can leave anytime now,” I said, glaring at my sister.

“Gladly,” she snapped backing out the door without closing it.

I definitely needed to get a lock.

e a r t h g i r l
[ Nov. 14th | 10:25pm ]
[ mood | duped]
[ music | Don't Believe the Hype — Public Enemy ]
The monkey wrench gang are not real. Not the terrono punk band who do actually exist, i've seen ‘em in concert and have the bleeding ears to prove it. Turns out the “not real” Monkeywrench gang of the eco-warrior variety are actually made up characters from a novel about people who blow up bridges and reek other eco-havoc.

They do have a real life, vigilante equivalent. the Earth Liberation Front! (ELF) and Animal Liberation Front! (ALF) exist and advocate “monkeywrenching” AKA fooking wid da seestem.

Is it just me, or is it strange that 2 X-treme eco-orgs have cutsy-wootsy names like ELF and ALF. I wonder if that's supposed to be ironic. Probably, IRONY seems to be very big these dayz. At least in my universe.

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altalake 11-15 00:04
Irony is the new sincerity.

onederful 11-15 01:31
Irony is good. Ironing, not so good. So embrace your wrinkles they've embraced you.

Vague-a-bond 11-16 21:21
“Sentiment without action is the ruin of the soul.” – Edward Abbey, author + activist, The Monkeywrench Gang. I looooovvvveeee that book. Thought it was sooo funny. Luv the blog greenbean. Inspired. Always.
lacklusterlulu 11-15 14:13
Actually alta, irony is the new black!

Biggish news on the normally not hugely newsworthy academic frontier. Cue the drum roll and guitar solo...

I got my very first ever A plus! Yes, that's right, an A and a plus! And the crowd goes wild! The crowd of me, anyway.

This historic event occurred in social studies for my cleverly titled paper, “Global Warning.” It also proves two significant things: (1) it definitely helps to actually care about, or at least be remotely interested in the subjects you are studying and (2) never underestimate the power of a well-placed pun.

“Printing on the back of used paper was a nice touch, Sabine,” Mr. Sarrazin noted as he handed back my assignment.