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.