Trashcessorizing: The Video

Trashcessorizing: Withdrawal

I kind of...miss my trash.

Also, I promised a video, and I shall deliver a video. It's just taking awhile, because I'm also missing my ghost editor.

Revising the 2009 iShopping List

Some friends just assuaged my iPhone envy with this little doozy. (I must have been busy making sound effects to go with the touchscreen "pincher" function when the story first hit the fan.)

I'm sure my vintage Treo also contains many caustic agents that contribute to toxic e-waste. Targeting the iPhone just makes for a better story.* But still.

I lived through elementary school without a Cabbage Patch Kid; I suppose I can live without handheld Google Earth.

Notice to all future callers: You might want to bone up on your Khoisan language skills. Looks like I'll be on my Treo until clicks are all we can get across.

*Publicity stunts aside, Greenpeace has a longstanding campaign devoted to pushing Apple toward policy change. They've made some inroads, but apparently, there's a lot farther to go.

Trashcessorizing: I'll show you mine if you show me yours.

And so it ends. My week of Trashcessorizing came to a delicious conclusion last night with the dregs of a pint of Häagen-Dazs, eaten straight from the soon-to-be-composted container.

Ladies and Gents, I give you my week's worth of trash:





6.5 ounces, based on my utterly unreliable GoodWill kitchen scale.

And of course, the obligatory money shot:


All "recyclable" plastic will now go to the appropriate bin; I was carrying it around to make a point.

What I've learned:
-San Franciscans are lucky, because we can compost almost anything without having to cultivate our own personal worm colonies. That said, I kind of want one.

-I had it easy, being that I was already on a buying strike. Also, there are no babies or dogs or cats or pygmy goats up in Ugly Betty. (A single trip to Safeway with Tracey and her 11-month old twins boggled me wee brain.) And let's not forget HCB's considerable talents as a "fixer". (I mean that literally, but I like how the quotation marks add a subversive element.)

-People want to be part of the solution. EVERYBODY I met with my trash bag and my tupperware and my travel mug and my cloth napkin was enthusiastic, encouraging and more than willing to participate.

-Takeout food is evil. (Click here for a great review of takeaway containers, rated from worst to best.)

-I am lazy, Part I. We've been at Ugly Betty for nine months now without a compost bin, and I didn't bother to fish my rotten celery sticks out of the trash can until I was faced with the prospect of taking them out for a martini. (I kept meaning to, but I was busy reading perezhilton...) I'm happy to report that I am now the Official Captain of Composting in our building; Sunset Scavenger is going to drop off the bin tomorrow. (If you're in SF and you don't have one yet, call them. It's easy and 100% free!) If this blog had audio, you would hear me squealing, such is my excitement.

-I am lazy, Part II. I can now say from experience that previously, I was not diligent enough about separating my trash. HCB often gave me a hard time about it, but I thought he was just being fussy. (Sometimes even Hot Canadians can be fussy.) Obsessively picking through your own detritus reinforces the fact that every little bit counts.

My new motto: I'd rather be overdressed than underdressed.

Wait, that's my old motto.

My new motto: if you wouldn't want to trashcessorize with it, try to avoid buying it.

Trashcessorizing: Dear Steve Ells

Stevie!

You're the guy who runs Chipotle, the "healthy Mexican" McDonald's spin-off that espouses "fast food with integrity". I'm writing to tell you that your San Francisco location on New Montgomery was the only restaurant all week to refuse my tupperware. The manager told me it was because of health codes, but when I pointed out that Peets and Starbucks offer a 10% discount for using your own mug, he got all sweaty and muttered something about how your "suppliers have to approve all containers". Can you decode that sentence for me? I don't have an MBA or anything, but it sounds to me like you learned how to do business from your wicked Uncle Scrooge. I suppose I should have expected as much.

I stick my tongue out at you, Sir. And from now on, I'll be taking my sweet tupperware elsewhere.

Trashcessorizing: The Obvious Question

No, it's not "Does Natalie smell funny yet?"

It's "Why is trash bad?"

Jenn just asked me this question to taunt me (in a loving and tender way), and I'm answering it, if for no other reason than fact-gathering increases my moral superiority arsenal.

The short answer:
-Americans generate 251.3 million tons of garbage per year. Landfills are smelly and ugly and nobody wants them in their backyard and if we don't stop throwing out all this crap, they'll be the only backyard we have.

-Trash often escapes its pen (if it was ever in a pen in the first place), endangering/poisoning precious baby animals as it makes its way to our rivers, lakes and oceans to endanger/poison precious baby fish.

-Re: those oceans. Ever read about the North Pacific Gyre, aka the Great Pacific Garbage Patch? Kill me now.

- Leachate from landfills pollutes ground water and waterways, destroying ecosystems and killing off species and making our tap water more toxic than Britney.

-Landfills also produce gas, including high quantities of methane and carbon dioxide (aka greehouse gases) along with hundreds of other air contaminants. Which is to say: landfills burn holes in the ozone and give us The Cancer.

Like I said, that's the very short answer. For a slightly longer short answer, try ye olde Wikipedia. And if anybody has some good trash facts/links to share, please get up on those comments!

[Chart from Missouri Department of Transportation "No More Trash!" website]

Trashcessorizing: Permission

While passing through security at The Warfield:
Security: Is there any food in there?
Me: Nope, just trash.
Security: Trash can's right there.
Me: Oh, no thanks. I want to keep it with me.
Security, while dousing me with Crazy Eye: That don't sound right, Lady, but you go right on ahead.

Trashcessorizing: Holy Shit

I left my lunch tupperware at home.

Trashcessorizing: Yummy Without the Scummy

Nothing says "kicking the ass of trash accrual" like a homemade soufflé.



This baby produced only ONE non-compostable item: a measly piece of cheesy saran wrap.

Gotta go. Headed downtown for another day of challenging societal conventions with my tupperware.

His Precious

How to get really good stuff for FREE:
1) Get some friends. Preferably technophiles, trend whores and people with really good stuff.
2) Start a blog in which you pledge not to buy new stuff.
3) Use said blog to complain about your old stuff.
4) Look melancholy at dinner parties.

Et Voilà!


How to lose your really good free stuff:
1) Show Dante's gracious gift to HCB.
2) Observe as HCB slavers over sleek black "manly" audio device.
3) Listen as he complains about never finding stuff like this at the GoodWill.
4) Watch as he spends the next hour obsessively fiddling with your defunct pink Mini.
5) Start to suspect something.
6) Scowl as he returns your Mini, says "All fixed!" and wanders off into the other room to be alone with his plunder.

Trashcessorizing: Pretending to be Normal

The thing about being a freelancer is that you really don't have to leave your house much. Or get dressed. Or interact with other humans. Which makes this trashcessorizing thing not nearly as embarrassing or difficult as it would be for the average citizen. I could just nibble away at leftovers in my jammies and breeze right on through the week.

So today I'm going to pretend to be normal. I'm heading out to an office I like to visit now and then. I'm going to take the subway, order lunch out, and even pretend to get some writing work done in public.

Watch out San Francisco, I'm armed and dangerous.

Trashcessorizing: Day One Observations

I go through tissues like Pete Doherty goes through second chances. Something must be wrong with me. It's probably The Cancer finally come to get me.

Thank the sweet baby Jesus for green bins. Without compost, I'd be...carrying around a lot of tissues. And asparagus butts and tea leaves and the sweet smell of decay.

Compiling mental list of all procedures I'm thankful NOT to have scheduled this week: teething cleaning, car oil change, lady garden maintenance...

Thanks to the plastic generated from last night's home-cooked organic vegetarian meal, I'm going to smell faintly of Tofurky Italian "Sausage" for the rest of the week. What's left for me? Crudité?

Speaking of crudité, Whole Foods, you bastardos, quit hermetically sealing your fresh vegetables.

Stayed up half the night concocting totally antithetical detritus avoidance schemes. Like: I know! I'll open a brand new yogurt container so I don't have to finish the last one! Logic at its finest.

Cannot stop humming Fake Plastic Trees.

Celebrating Earth Day with an Obvious Cry for Attention

I'll be honest with you: I've never been a big fan of Earth Day. For one thing, I don't have dreads. And for another, I can't stand drum circles.

I kid. I kid. (Sort of.) The real reason I don't buy into this yearly hullabaloo is that EVERY day should be Earth Day. I like to imagine us waking up every morning smiling at the chirping birds, stretching our arms in the sunshine, and committing ourselves to reducing our impact.

...
Or at least every day but Monday.

...
Or at least after we've had some caffeine.

...

Okay, so maybe Earth Day has a point.

Then we can at least use this day to remind ourselves of our commitment. For Earth Day 2008, that's what I've decided to do.

Following in the footsteps of these brave souls (and this one and this one), I'm going to carry my trash around on my person for the next week.

Actually, I prefer to say I'll be accessorizing with it.


[Already collected my first piece: the bastard plug from my egg whites carton]

One of the most insidious environmental factors in buying new stuff is packaging. I'm managing to avoid a lot of it this year with my Not New pledge, but because consumables like food, beverage and beauty prod don't count, I'm not avoiding all of it. I'm still producing trash, and that bums me out.

I'll be following the main rules the Frog Design crowd established:

- Participants must remove all garbage cans from your house/ desk.
o If the participant has a partner, they do not have to participate in this exercise (but may!)
- Participants may not use public garbage cans/ or anyone else’s garbage can.
- Participants cannot give garbage to someone and ask them to throw it away for you.
- Participants may recycle.
- Participants may compost.
- When participants eat in a restaurant, unless it states that it composts, they must finish everything on their plate or take it to a compost facility.
- Participants may flush your toilet.
- Participants may donate objects to Goodwill or other charity organizations.
- Any garbage created must stay on him/her (in a purse, bag etc) or within five feet at all times.

But in homage to Beth at Fake Plastic Fish, I'm adding a rule: ANY plastic, recyclable or not, goes in the "accessories" bag. Because recycling plastic is really DOWNcycling plastic, and that's not very eco-friendly after all.

Thankfully, HCB and I have Ugly Betty pretty dialed when it comes to responsible waste management. But don't take it from me: wait and ask everybody I'm gonna hang out with this week.

I'll do my best to videotape the proceedings, because I know you won't want to miss the natfoolery.

Yours in detritus...

Bangles, Bonbons and Butts.

I exchanged emails with an old friend yesterday who was just recently introduced to this blog. He praised the writing (blush), but pointed to the "insanely hilarious irony of a sustainability blog that in actuality concerns itself almost exclusively with fashion, food, and your HCB's ass".

I'm pretty sure Jas was just giving me a hard time, and hey, there are a lot of booties and baked goods up in here. But I wouldn't call what I'm doing ironic. Fashion, food and HCB's ass all figure prominently in my life. And I'm trying to transition that life into one that is better for the earth, for my community and for all the baby animals on cute overload. If Prince were writing this blog, you'd probably read a lot about non-toxic purple dyes and getting it on, eco-style. (Now I wish Prince had an eco blog.)

Going personally green isn't just a bet, as Michael Pollan describes; it's also a process. I have my good days (today) and my bad days (last Tuesday), but I'm proud to let it all hang out. You're watching reading change happen, however puny and personal and imperfect it may be.

Nobody can tell you with certainty how to become 100% sustainable, because it's insanely complicated to unravel the UN-sustainability of our current lifestyle. And nobody else is you, with all the habits and passions and circumstances that make your eco challenge unique. (Though if you want an amazingly comprehensive list of eco tips, check this out. Just remember to breathe while you read.)

The way I figure it, all any of us can do is put on a brave face and try. And give ourselves permission to laugh about it while we do. Because, as one Indigo Girl once said to the other, otherwise we'd cry our eyes out.

Michael Pollan is like, real smart and stuff.

April means Earth Day, and that means a whole lotta annual Green Issues. Many of these publications are not worth the non-FSC-certified paper they were printed on, but some are interesting, informative and smart, like this Sunday's New York Times Magazine. Michael Pollan's pro-garden treatise, "Why Bother?" was especially good. Here, whet your appetite with some amuse-bouche:

...The Big Problem is nothing more or less than the sum total of countless little everyday choices, most of them made by us (consumer spending represents 70 percent of our economy), and most of the rest of them made in the name of our needs and desires and preferences.

Going personally green is a bet, nothing more or less, though it's one we probably all should make, even if the odds of it paying off aren't that great. Sometimes you have to act as if acting will make a difference, even when you can't prove that it will.

If you do bother, you will set an example for other people. If enough other people bother, each one influencing yet another in a chain reaction of behavioral change, markets for all manner of green products and alternative technologies will prosper and expand...Consciousness will be raised, perhaps even changed...Not having things might become cooler than having them.

Now that's a place I aspire to.

I think you can read the whole magazine online. Try it: you'll like it.

Balancing the Budget.

(+) $163.89
returned two pairs of verboten pants to Lululemon

(-) $162.75
purchased two gently worn sweaters, one sui generis jacket, one pair lime sandals, one whimsical skirt and one boho scarf at GoodByes (uptown lady consignment extraordinaire)

On the subject of sharing...

I know someone who not only might share, but did. A lot.

I'd like to take this moment to give a long overdue shout out to my man (well, actually, Liza's man) Dave Bobrow of Useful Entertainment.


[L-R: Liza, Nat and Dave (with a bonus profile of sexy Sarah). I imagine this is what our editing sessions must have felt like.]

Dave was my silent cinematographing/editing partner on that little Roxy video. He spent tireless (or is it tiring?) days and nights making me look computer whizzish with his masterful slamming of the spacebar while I chirped stupid ideas and carefully worded commands over his shoulder. Of course, being a complete youtube boob, I had no idea what I was asking him to do when I asked for his help. But he knew, and he still agreed to do it.

Dave, you not only have a minion for life, but I feel certain that you have filled your Creative Karma bank to the brim.

Thank you thank you thank you. The "lady" in ladyhosen takes a curtsy at your estimable feet.

What I've been doing with all my free time

since I haven't been shopping for new stuff...

Voilà my video for the Roxy Follow Your Heart Tour.

(I'm like a Vlogger now!)

Post Script:

iPhoto hated the champagne shot, too. Prude.

Current Status: Fragile and Reversible

I've been thinking a lot about 2009. More specifically, I've been dreaming of 2009: that giddy moment of freedom when I can celebrate the end of personal and political tyranny with as many pop-colored dripless candlesticks as I can stuff in my cloth shopping bag.

Er, wait...

I wrote it down somewhere...oh yeah, OVER THERE --->

that I committed to this whole sitch because I wanted to experience truly conscious consumerism, in hopes of permanently changing my attitude toward my nasty little habit.

Well, it has become painfully obvious to me lately that I haven't turned any corners yet. I haven't seen any lights at the end of the tunnel. And I know exactly where the champagne bottle is: right there in the fridge door, winking at me.



It's unreasonable (nay, in my case, impossible) to imagine that I could stop buying new stuff forever. But all I can say is this: I sure do hope I come up with a better exit strategy between now and December 31st. Because if all I've done by then is spend 365 frustrating days putting off buying stuff, well take my picture and put it in the OED right next to the word FUTILE.

Universe, I beseech you.

Ring-spun Japanese denim, stupidly expensive tee shirts, fetching shoes and charming handbags: these are the items I formerly threw my money at like a subprime mortgage lender circa 2005. But in fact, there is a whole list of consumer goods that I really, truly don't care about, and only replenish when they stop working as advertised. This list includes cell phones, iPods, computers and cars. Oh, and workout clothes, but I believe we've already retired that sad horse to an afterlife of mucilage and violin strings.

Let's review. As of April 14th:

• Cell phone: Sorry? What did you say? Oh sorry! My phone didn't ring. Hello? Hello? No I didn't get your text...and I'm not just saying that to make myself look like a better friend.

• iPod: Will no longer load music. (Not even Coldplay.) Have restored factory settings five times in seven days. Is currently click-rev-repeating the Apple screen in endless cycle. Considering burying it under floorboard a là Tell Tale Heart.

• Computer (aka Carrie Bradshaw): Spins beach ball of death 78% of usage time. Had to reopen iPhoto six times to upload that picture of my butt. (Was it was objecting to the subject matter?)

• Car: FRANTICALLY KNOCKING ON WOOD

The Trauma of the Traveling Pants.

Just when you thought I couldn't get my head stuck any farther up my ass over yoga pants...well, shame on you for underestimating me.

Yes I went to Lululemon.
Yes I spent the gift certificate.
No they don't have any real eco fabrics.
Yes it gets worse.

I accidentally came home with two extra pairs of pants.

What can I say. I was weary? The lighting was flattering? I was bulk-buying on autopilot?



Obviously I've decided to take them back. But not before a whole weekend of soul-searching, two sympathetic look-away nods from friends, a neck strain from self-butt scrutiny, and a crying fit with HCB.

Yes you read that correctly. I cried about yoga pants. This is a new low.

Every Frodo Needs a Samwise.

Turns out you guys are awfully helpful, what with your excellent gift ideas (Kate) and eagle-eye book-poaching skills.

So how's about we keep this Choose-Your-Own-Adventure thing going? I mean, isn't that the point of all this eco madness anyway? To share our knowledge and find solutions together? Or is it that I just don't like being alone?

Ladies and Gents, I give you the conundrum du jour:

My excellent friends at BCSF, for whom I do some copywriting gratis, decided to thank me on Friday with a wildly generous $200 gift certificate to Lululemon. It was all I could do to keep myself from chucking my misgivings in the blue bin like so much recycling and running (not walking) to get me some new PANTS. My yoga attire at this point looks like Shirley MacLaine's stress-afflicted dog from Steel Magnolias: fuzzy in some areas, nearing baldness in others. Which begs the question: at what point does desire become actual need? I've already mastered looking shabby. Do I have to wait until HCB has fashioned me a loin cloth out of the remnants of my old pants?

I'm kidding about that last bit. I mean, I didn't take on this challenge to get all Siddhartha on your ass. But I don't know, something about brand new spendy designer yoga pants tastes a tiny bit like cheating. Delicious, spit-roasted cheating with meyer lemon and a side of asparagus bread salad.

more at twiigs.com...

Thank you, Rachel Eaton!

It took less than 20 minutes. My friend and faithful reader Dave was passing by his colleague Rachel's desk shortly after reading my post on Friday, and voilà!

Thanks for sharing the wealth, Rach. I cherish it even more for having been dropped in a pool in Cabo. Makes the reading experience more tactile. And I've been napping with it on my head in hopes of osmotically absorbing trace elements of margarita.

As for you, Dave? You're Haute Mensch. The Menschiest.

Word to the Romans.

The public library. Now there's a system civilization got right the first time!

What efficiency!* You want a book? You get a book. You return a book, someone else gets the book. When the book is no longer popular, excess copies are sold to nerds like me for a fraction of the original price. Those copies eventually make it to the end of line:



fascinating discount bins where thrifty and adventurous readers decide they need to get "Completely Piste", or that "Straight Jobs, Gay Lives" might make interesting bedtime fare.

Indeed, books have been the least of my worries this year, what with my card-carrying membership to the SFPL and my addiction to buying and selling at places like Dog-Eared:



(I'm still enjoying a whopping $125 credit from purging my duplicate copies of "Stretching and Relaxation", "Television in Modern Society" and "Econ 101 for Dummies" when we moved last year. Ridding oneself of the literary nonessentials can be very freeing. And surprisingly lucrative. And good for you sex life, if your boyfriend has anything to do with schlepping your personal library to a new apartment.)

I have, however, encountered my first obstacle. I am completely obsessed with Philippa Gregory's rollicking Tudor fiction (the drama! the Feminism! the sables!), and have successfully gotten my ink-stained mitts on all of them BUT The Other Boleyn Girl. I can't seem to find it used, and the library can't keep it on the shelves.

I'm dying over here! I already know what happened to Katherine of Aragon, Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, Katherine Howard and Katherine Parr. Okay, we all already know what HAPPENED to all of them, but I need to know what they were WEARING!

Anybody have a copy they can loan me?

*Go ahead eco nerds. Hit me with the obscure sustainability study exposing the wanton wastefulness of the public library system. I would do it to you.

Dear Aries Friends,

You guys are awesome! Don't tell the Scorpios, but you're totally my favorite people. You're smart and thoughtful and Oh Baby, I Love Your Way. (Because it's usually Your Way Or The Highway. Yee Haw!)

You are also numerous. My April calendar reads like a birthday mine field.

I'm feeling particularly insecure this year about my gifting, what with having only stinky old stuff to offer you.

Can you, will you, help?

more at twiigs.com...

This blog is actually a J. Crew guerrilla marketing effort administered by Mickey Drexler himself.

Quicken Earth March: A Celebration of Mixed Metaphor

Self-righteousness, Cynicism, Avoidance and Guilt.

Desafortunatamente, these are the sharks you'll find circling the sustainability movement. As in:

"I drive a hybrid, Bitch."

"You're just hopping on yesterday's turnip truck."

"This shit is confusing! Why is it my problem?"

and

"[insert your pick of my confessional blog entries here]"

Actually, I've perpetrated all of these attitudes, as has just about everybody with an affinity for polar bear cubs. Maybe it's natural to react with negativity when we're all bobbing around in the unknown sans proper water safety apparel, holding our breath as the sea level rises.

But I'd like to recommend we try a new tack:

Let's all order a Claim Jumper-sized entrée of HOPE, with a starter salad of FUN and two generous sides of OPEN-MINDEDNESS and TRYING OUR BEST. (And an entire Red Delicious apple for garnish, as is the custom.)

Oh, and you guys? The ones muttering under your breath that we're all gonna drown anyway? (I know you're there: I can hear you chewing with your mouths open.) You guys should order the 10-pound slice of chocolate cake for dessert. There's no attitude a hearty baked good can't adjust.

OOPS! (Formerly known as SINS)

There was some free stuff. But I'll tell you this: it was an act of restraint compared with orders past. Usually I get seduced by cha-cha bikinis, age-inappropriate sundresses, boardshorts (operative word: short) and hoochie skirts too microscopic to ever see the 55-degree San Francisco light of day. By my previous standards, I kept it real.


NECESSITIES (Formerly known as ADMISSIBLE NECESSITIES)




CREATIVE CONSUMPTION (Formerly known as PREVIOUSLY OWNED FRIVOLITIES)

Dudes! I didn't even go to Cris! Is it possible that I am beginning to wean myself from the ways of the wallet?

Also, because I do not wish to make him a crutch, let's recall that HCB brought home that lovely food processor.


UP FOR DISCUSSION (Formerly known as TECHNICALITIES)



Brandi gave me a tee shirt, but I'm inclined to declare all items promoting independent singer/songwriters exempt from scrutiny. (Also, it's very attractive and looks good with my hair color.)

Gifts are always tough. Nobody wants to be the Green Grinch. So I got Grandma a basket of tulip bulbs for her birthday. (Which happens to be today. Happy Bday, you adorable April Fool!) Origins of the basket aside, I'm digging the plant option.


ABSTENTIONS

I'm still thinking about this baby.



And I *may* have perused yet another J. Crew catalog, thereby discovering the Shoe of the Month Club. But their footwear pinches my feet. So Mickey can suck it.

I just bought a Hummer.

Psych!

Happy Foolin', Fools!