Greenvenience

I'm typically not a jargon or buzzword guy. Matter of fact, I typically go out of my way to not use them at all. But something about this word I really like.

Greenvenience.

It perfectly describes the parameters people put on their willingness to act in a "green" manner.

Recycling has become, at least in larger cities, incredibly convenient. Here in Denver we have big purple trash cans on wheels. We put all our recyclables in that big, wheel it out to the curb with the trash every other week, and the city picks it up. No sorting whatsoever. Due to the incredibly high level of greenvenience, recycling has gone up 40% in our city since they initiated the big purple bins.

For the majority of Americans, that's the level of greenvenience they need to make it worth their while. The more involved I have to get, the more it's going to slow me down, the less likely I am to do it.

So how about you? What's your greenvenient threshhold?

Are you like Asbestos Dust, who dumps the old motor oil from his 1972 Ford 3/4-ton into the wetlands behind his house? Or are you like Venessa, who uses Aster leaves for toilet paper?

Do you use paper towels, or do you clean with sponges and rags?

Do you recycle every single thing you can, including all forms of paper, or do you sometimes throw things in the trash because it's just easier?

Do you buy milk and juice and other beverages in recyclable containers only, or do you buy them in non-recyclable wax-coated paper cartons, maybe because of price or maybe because of brand preference?

Do you carpool?

Do you drive to lunch?

Do you use compact fluorescent bulbs at home, or do you prefer regular bulbs because you don't like the color that comes from compact fluorescent?

Do you make sure bottles and cans always get put in recycling, or do you toss them in the trash if that's what's closest and easiest?

What else?

In the spirit of full disclosure, I've done every single one of the "non-green" things listed above. Well, except the oil thing.

I had a 1984 Ford Bronco.

All Your Bottles Are Belong to Earth

Are you a bottled water drinker? Some food for thought:

• The picture above, found at whatisleft.org and created by David Coale of Acterra, is a representation of the amount of oil required to ship a bottle of water from its source to the Bay Area of California.


• Roughly 1.5 million tons of plastic are expended in the bottling of 89 billion liters of water each year.*


• The United States is the world’s leading consumer of bottled water, with Americans drinking 26 billion liters in 2004, or approximately one 8-ounce glass per person every day.** This in spite of the fact that the U.S. has some of the world's safest tap water.


• The most commonly used plastic for making water bottles is polyethylene terephthalate (PET), which is derived from crude oil. Making bottles to meet Americans’ demand for bottled water requires more than 1.5 million barrels of oil annually, enough to fuel some 100,000 U.S. cars for a year. Worldwide, some 2.7 million tons of plastic are used to bottle water each year.**


• According to the Container Recycling Institute, 86 percent of plastic water bottles used in the United States become garbage or litter. Incinerating used bottles produces toxic byproducts such as chlorine gas and ash containing heavy metals. Buried water bottles can take up to 1,000 years to biodegrade. Almost 40 percent of the PET bottles that were deposited for recycling in the United States in 2004 were actually exported, sometimes to as far away as China—adding to the resources used by this product.**


• We're moving 1 billion bottles of water around a week in ships, trains, and trucks in the United States alone. That's a weekly convoy equivalent to 37,800 18-wheelers delivering water. (Water weighs 81/3 pounds a gallon. It's so heavy you can't fill an 18-wheeler with bottled water--you have to leave empty space.)***


• In Fiji, a state-of-the-art factory spins out more than a million bottles a day of the hippest bottled water on the U.S. market today, while more than half the people in Fiji do not have safe, reliable drinking water.***


• Bottled water is much less regulated than tap water. As a matter of fact, most bottled water is tap water. Some has been filtered for purity, some has simply had minerals added for taste, and others are straight from the tap.


• Bottled water companies are not required to reveal their filtration and/or purification processes on the label. So you simply don't know what's in that water. And just because it says "Spring Water" doesn't mean it's clean spring water.


• Ounce for ounce, bottled water costs more than gasoline. Depending on the brand, it costs 250 to 10,000 times more than tap water.****


• If you bought and drank a bottle of Evian, which costs about $1.35, you could refill that bottle once a day for 10 years, 5 months, and 21 days with tap water before that water would cost $1.35.***

About eight months ago we put faucet-mounted filtration systems in our kitchen, and upstairs near the bedrooms. The systems cost about $30 each. We replace the filters, which cost about $10 each, every two to three months downstairs and every three to four months upstairs.

We've saved a shitload of money. We now have filtered water for everything we consume -- not just drinking, but cooking too. We're not lugging cased of bottled water from the store anymore. Our house isn't cluttered with plastic bottled anymore. And we're no longer contributing to all the waste and pollution caused by the bottles.


*According to a 2001 report of the World Wide Fund for Nature.
**From the article "Bottled Water: Pouring Resources Down the Drain," published by the Earth Policy Institute.
***From the Fast Company article "Message in a Bottle".
****From the NYT article "Bad to the Last Drop," by Tom Standage.

Greetings

If I may be allowed a Grumpy Old Man moment, there are too many damn greeting options these days. I work in a building with about 500 people, and every time I walk down the hallway I have a panic attack because I know I'm going to pass five to 10 people and I'm going to have to greet each of them. That would be fine if there was one standard greeting:

"Hello."

That would be super simple. Even something a little more involved, but consistent, would be cool by me:

"Good day to you, sir or ma'am."

Spanish speakers have it super easy: "Hola." Sure, they may get more formal with the Buenos días/Buenas tardes/Buenas noches triple threat, but those are easy because they depend on the time of day.

But not here. No, we English speakers are drowning in greeting options, from the verbal to the physical gesture.

Hey. How's it going? What's up? S'up? How you doin'? Yo. Dude. Mornin'. Cool shirt. Wave. Point. Smile. Head-up nod. Head-down nod. Wink. Look away. Handshake. High five. Knuckle tap. Say their name. Say their nickname. Make up a nickname. Say an obscure reference to something silly they said or did in a meeting once.

Don't get me wrong, I like variety as much as the next guy, but things have gotten out of hand. Just today I strained the muscles in my neck when I got caught between a head-up nod and a head-down nod. I've had it.

From now on, I'm just gonna say, "Didn't do it," and keep walking.

Let them figure it out.

Wrong Number for the New Millennium

Anyone getting wrong-number texts these days? I've gotten a fair amount. It's such an interesting phenomenon. Back when we used to actually call and speak to people, we were instantly informed of our mis-dialing.

"Sorry, wrong number."

With texting, however, the sender assumes the text was received by the right person unless you, the unintended recipient, lets the sender know.

You've gone from the immediate and effortless response, "Sorry, wrong number," to a series of choices:

1. Respond via text message.
2. Respond via phone call.
3. Ignore.

Last week, my ten-year-old daughter received a wrong-number text that said, "What? You want to suck my dick when?"

She showed it to Mom, who showed it to me, who was faced with the three choices.

I quickly eliminated #3. Couldn't let it go. So I opted for #2 and called the dude. Oh, I called him after I used the Internets to get his name. He was maybe 15 or 16. I scared the shit out of him, so that was fun.

The other day I got a wrong-number text that was full of entertainment. Here's what it said (written exactly as it appears on my phone):

"Chris hit a shot fir at bat to rite 7 0 us 4th Hes in rite"

Again, I ruled out #3. But this time, I opted for #1. Thought long and hard about it, then replied:

"Tell Chris 2 stop dragging dick Wish I was dere Score more 7 0 not enuf Drink Ovaltine"

I didn't get a response.

Man, I love modern technology

Tigger - The O.G. LOLer

So I was watching Winnie the Pooh with my little boy, reminiscing about how when I was a little boy I'd collapse into tears whenever Winnie the Pooh ended on TV (back then we didn't have any fancy DVD players, so we had to watch the shows when they came on once a year). Anyway, Tigger comes bouncing on, which makes my boy and I both start giggling, and when he leaves, he says:

"TTFN! Ta ta for now!"

So long before Al Gore's Internets were invented, Tigger was using cute acronyms.* What a debt of gratitude we owe that pouncing bouncing combination of rubber and spring.

TTFN!

*It must be mentioned that Tigger's "TTFN" was not the work of A.A. Milne, but added to the character by the Disney folks when Pooh and friends became moving pictures.

Bumper Sticker Bitchin'

I'm not much of a bumper sticker guy. That's mostly because the vast majority of bumper stickers either fall into the "Who cares?", the "That's stupid" or the "That type's way too small for me to read while I'm driving" camp. On the rare occasion that I see a clever bumper sticker, I think, that's clever. Then I go back to paying attention to the road, because the "I was reading a bumper sticker" defense doesn't work with the poh-lice.

Yesterday, while driving home from work, I saw one on the back of a car that made me think.

"FUCK WAR"

No, it didn't make me think about war, or about my stance on war, or about whether I wanted to fuck war or not.

It made me think about how I felt seeing that on the back of a car. Whether I thought it was an appropriate place for something with the word "FUCK" so prominently displayed. I spent the rest of my drive in a battle with myself.

The parent me thought, I appreciate the sentiment, but I'd really rather you showed some class and considered the amount of children who will see that on a daily basis. George Bush isn't going to see it. Sure, some of the pro-war crowd will see it, and look into your Jetta and see you, edgy 20-something girl with a cigarette, and think, fuck you, slacker, and then continue to be pro-war. But a lot of kids are going to see it, too. Little kids. So show some class.

The rebellious me, however, thought, if that's the way you feel, tell everyone. Seeing the word "fuck" isn't going to traumatize a child. It might actually spark a conversation between parent and child. A healthy conversation about language and freedom of speech and individuality.

I'm still being pulled in both directions.

How do you feel about it?

Reality Check

I just found out that the blogger NYC Watchdog lost his five-year-old son to a swimming accident recently.

This is real life. Real loss.

It's so easy to get caught up in the surreal life of the internet. To keep everything and everyone at digital distance. To view people as nothing more than words on a screen.

It's easy to tease. To ridicule. To taunt. To offend. To push. To troll. To scream. To threaten.

It's easy to not give a shit.

Ironically, last year I got caught up in a "blog war" that started with a conversation about pit bulls and ended up traveling from blog to blog, commenter to commenter, insult to insult. NYC Watchdog was one of those who was pulled into the whole mess. He was just another grouping of words on a screen, just like everyone else.

Not now.

Suddenly, he's a father being ripped apart from the inside by losing what was most important in his life. He lost his child. His son. His best friend.

I can't even begin to imagine what he's going through. But I do know that right now, I don't want to be at work. I want to be at home with my kids.

There's a fund that's been set up to help NYCWD. Click the icon above (in my sidebar as well) for details.

Peace, everyone.

I just saved a boatload of money switching to...

AAA.

I checked Geico, but the lizard was more than what we were paying. AAA, however, just came in $700 cheaper per year for our auto insurance. $700! That's worth switching for. It did make me wonder, though, what the hell goes into determining insurance rates? I mean, our former company and AAA figured our rates based on the same exact criteria, and AAA came in $700 cheaper for the year. The AAA agent told me that in Colorado, they pretty much beat anyone's rates. I don't get it. Don't get me wrong; I'm ecstatic that we'll now have an extra $700 to spend on my daughters' shoes. It's just a reminder that A) when you can shop around, you should, and you should never assume you're getting the best deal, and B) when you can't shop around -- like for utilities or health insurance (if supplied by your employer) or auto registrations or sales tax rates -- it's a real pisser.

Raising the Cup

Yes, this is a sports post. A hockey post, to be precise. But you don't have to be a sports fan, let alone a hockey fan, to appreciate what winning the Stanley Cup means to hockey players.

Hockey is what's called a "niche sport." It doesn't have much of a "casual fan" base to speak of. It has painfully low TV numbers. (I'm talking about here in the States, of course... not in our neighbors' country to the north) It has a rabid core fan base, but compared to the other big three sports it pales in comparison.

And yet Lord Stanley's Cup is widely regarded as the single greatest trophy in all of sports, the world over. First, it's the oldest professional trophy competed for in North America. Second, it has the names of the men who won it engraved it. And third, every player from the winning team gets to take the Cup for a day.

Hockey players don't get gigantic Nike shoe endorsements. They're not plastered all over billboards and TV and magazine ads. Sure, NHL players make good money, but nothing like the money made by players in the other big three sports. They don't play for glory.

They play for the Cup.

Until he wins the right to hoist it over their head, an NHL player won't touch that Cup. Will not touch it, no matter how close to it he gets. It's part superstition, and part deference. I don't want to jinx myself, and besides, I haven't earned the right.

Ask Rob Niedermayer. His brother, Scott, won the damn thing three times with New Jersey. In 2003, big brother Scott's Devils beat little brother Rob's Anaheim Ducks in game 7 of the finals. Rob's brother Scott had the Cup in his possession three times and Rob wouldn't touch it.

Last night, when the final horn blew and Anaheim had beaten Ottawa to win the series, Scott (named MVP of the playoffs) picked up that Cup, raised it over his head, and then handed it to little brother Rob, tears streaming down his face.

Hell, I wanted Ottawa to win and I had tears in my eyes.

But it's always that way. No matter whom I'm rooting for, no matter who's on the winning team, I get chills when I see that Cup being raised. I think to myself, there can't be a more awesome feeling of victory. Of reaching a monumental goal.

As a hockey player myself -- a sorry excuse for a hack of a weekend warrior hockey player -- I daydream of lifting that Cup over my head and skating around the ice.

Of course, given that that'll never happen, if I ever get close to that thing I'm touching the hell out of it.

"Just kidding."

Don't you hate having to say that? You crack a joke and can tell immediately that folks to whom you're talking aren't sure if you're serious or not, and then you have to decide, is it okay if they don't know, or should I let them know because they're my co-workers/supervisors/employees/in-laws, and it could cause unwarranted concern or criticism and possibly be reflected on my annual review/examination? So you say, "Just kidding," and you're really bummed out because the joke lost 75% of its beauty by having to be qualified.

What's even more annoying, however -- and this happens at work frequently -- is people being afraid to laugh at a joke because, well, we're in a meeting and people shouldn't say jokes in a meeting. Come on, that's when the best jokes are told -- when they're not supposed to be told! If I may take a moment to indulge in unbridled self-admiration, I'm quite brilliant at dropping jokes when they're least expected. And by jokes, I don't mean set-up punchline jokes. I mean dry wit delivered as if I'm serious.

Just today I was in a management session about interviewing legalities, and the presenter made a comment something to the effect of, "If someone is interviewing for a position at our agency and you happen to know that s/he beat the crap out of a former co-worker, it is perfectly legal for you to bring that to HR's attention." I raised my hand and asked, "What if you know for a fact that the person who was beat up deserved it?" Straight-faced as can be, because I'm that good, but come on, who thinks that's a serious question? Everyone in the room, apparently, because it was quiet. "Just kidding," I said. Dammit! Come on, people! Embrace the funny! Don't make me qualify my jokes!

Truth is, I usually don't. I love it when people don't know if I'm serious or not. Keeps them guessing and me in a position of power. But sometimes I gotta think about the bigger picture, and aw hell, I gotta attach the "just kidding."

On a completely unrelated note, it's quite the blustery day here in Denver. The wind is blowing so hard, children are rolling like tumbleweeds across the street.

Just kidding.

Come on!

Talking out loud.

More and more, my inner monologue keeps slipping out.

Why? Why, as I approach 40, am now I saying out loud what I think I'm thinking?

It seems like it's always mid-sentence, too. I'll be driving to work, running through my morning to-do list in my head, and somewhere in the middle I'll start speaking.

"...time sheets in or they'll have my ass."

The scariest thing is, I don't realize I'm doing it until I've done it. I'll finish the thought out loud, and then think, wait a second, did I just say that out loud? It's not just when I'm alone, either. I'll catch myself doing it at work or in a store or out for a walk. What I haven't started, knock on wood, is doing it when someone I know is right there with me. But I'm sure it's only a matter of time.

What things are you finding yourself doing now that you didn't used to do when you were younger?

Why don't you eat breakfast?

You know you should. Every doctor, every nutritionist, every teacher and every parent have told you it's the most important meal of the day. You know it's the most important meal of the day. Yet you still don't eat it, do you?

Why?

So it begins...

Our little girl has her first boyfriend.

A boy asked her yesterday if she would go out with him. She said yes.

When I was a kid, we just asked someone if she wanted to go with you. We usually wrote it in a note: "Will you go with me? Yes No Maybe."

Now they go "out," though they're not going anywhere.

Anyway, first boyfriend. Mom was in tears. Little sister kept saying big sister's first name with boyfriend's last name.

I told her I need references and two years of tax returns.

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When You Were Yoots

Joe and I were having a discussion over at Paula's about the influence of parents on their kids, and it got me to thinking (as discussions with Joe always do, which is why I love having discussions with Joe) about whether I was right or not, which in turn made me curious to see how all y'all felt.

So here's the question: When you were a teenager, particularly in your high-school years, who had more influence on you as it pertained to your appearance? Your three choices are 1) Your parents; 2) Your friends/peers; 3) Celebrities/idols. Just name your number one choice, or order them if you wish. Tell me why.

I'm not talking about choices having to do with sex or drinking or cheating or driving like and idiot or things like that. I'm just talking about the more superficial choices having to do with how you looked.

Do tell!

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Seams weird to me.

I've noticed more and more people wearing shirts constructed so that the seams are on the outside, thus appearing at first glance to be inside out. I think this is stupid.

If you own one of these shirts and are offended by my comment, let me know and I'll apologize and go into rehab.

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HGIT?

On a scale of one to 10, with 10 being Queer Eye's Carson Kressley and one being a member of the Michigan Militia, how gay is the pump bottle of Nature's Gate Skin Therapy Moisturizing Lotion for dry, chapped, cracked skin I keep on my work desk next to my PowerBook? Before you answer, know that it contains herbal extracts to naturally soothe, calm and nourish, BUT IT IS UNSCENTED.

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When cars and car seats do what they're supposed to do.

Imagine being in Chicago on business and getting this phone call: "Honey, we're both okay, but Sam and I were in a car accident."

Now imagine standing by for an earlier flight, getting on by the skin of your teeth (being the last standby to get on, as a matter of fact, and only because there was one seat available and the two people ahead of you were a couple and didn't want to be split up), getting home and seeing your Explorer looking like the photo above.

That's our Explorer. And that rear passenger door that's so completely caved in? Our eight-month-old son was sitting in his car seat at that door.

Believe it or not, he and Julie had nary a scratch. The door took the hit (a woman in an older Wagoneer T-boned them), buckled and spread out the impact. Sam's Britax car seat completely protected him. The door was pushed in so that it was about three centimeters from the edge of his seat, but got no closer. A few minutes later, he was giggling at the firemen.

Needless to say, Julie was a wreck. She's truly one of the safest, most defensive drivers on the road. It just goes to show that anything can happen, anytime, anywhere.

But the car and the car seat protected them. Potentially, they saved my wife's and little boy's lives.

When we get the Explorer back (been in the shop since December 26, and the damage total is more than $11,000), I'm going to give it a big kiss.

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How the times have changed.

Over the past couple of years I've taken to introducing my step-daughters to movies that came out before their time. We've plowed through Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Groundhog Day, ¡Three Amigos!, Back to the Future, the original Star Wars trilogy, The Apple Dumpling Gang, Home Alone, Better Off Dead, Honey, I Shrunk the Kids and more that I can't think of right now. Good fun.

Well, last night I introduced them to The Bad News Bears. The original, not the recent remake with Billy Bob Self Mutilation. The 1976 classic with Walter Matthau, Tatum O'Neal, Vic Morrow (some seven years before being killed on the set of Twilight Zone: The Movie), and a bunch of kids you've never heard of.

It was rated PG, but that was before the PG-13 rating came out. I remembered quite vividly that there was some choice language, especially from the kid Tanner, but that it was of the "shit," "goddamn," "son-of-a-bitch" and "asshole" variety.

About 10 minutes into the movie, right after Matthau meets the team, Tanner says, "All we got on this team are a buncha Jews, spics, niggers, pansies, and a booger-eatin' moron!"

Um, yeah, didn't remember that one. My wife said, "Um, Jeff..." which translated to, "Hey, jackass, I thought you said this was appropriate!" I told her I didn't think anything like that was said again in the movie, and of course immediately after that a kid basically repeated what Tanner said. We kept watching, and the movie ended up being as silly and charming as I remembered, though the term "faggot" was also used a couple times.

Talk about being in a tough position as a parent. You can't just say "Times were different back then" and leave it at that. The idea that a little kid would say something like that, no matter what the time, is shocking. It was so shocking that it took the edge off that fact that the rebel kid, Kelly, rode a motorcycle and smoked cigarettes (he was maybe 12).

So I did what any good father would do and took a newspaper into the bathroom to let my wife explain.

Nah, that's a lie. We basically just told the girls that we were as shocked as they were. We also said that the good thing is that times have changed for the better, and that while there are unfortunately still people out there who think and talk that way, there aren't as many today as 30 years ago.

Today, that line would never make it into the movie. If it were in the original script, it would be removed during re-writes. If somehow it remained in the movie, the movie would be threatened with an "R" rating and the producers demand it be removed. It'd be different if the line was used as a step toward some sort of anti-bigotry message. But it was just simply there to be funny. Back then, it was funny, which makes me feel a little creepy. I know there are definitely people who would find it funny today, but that's a different matter of personal bigotry. In 1976, it was outward societal bigotry. Ick.

Tonight we're going to watch the original Love Bug. I think that one's safe.

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Momentary lapse of security.

This morning, as I was putting moisturizer on my face after shaving, it suddenly occurred to me that I was putting moisturizer on my face.

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New Year's Wish List

I was mulling over resolutions and whatnots when I read PJ's post. Rather than doing resolutions, she made a wish list. In other words, she listed the resolutions she wished other people would make. Brilliant! So I'm doing the same.

1. I wish we had new carpeting in our house.

2. I wish the snow on our street would melt, as the city decided ours was not an important enough street to plow.

3. I wish people would chill the hell out when they're behind the wheel and stop driving like douche bags. What is it about automobiles that makes so many people believe that they're invincible? Slow down, give some room between you and the person in front of you, pay attention to the road and the other drivers, and we'll all get to where we're going without incident.

4. I wish people still fought with fists, knives, chains and pipes instead of guns.

5. I wish they still taught things like American history and social studies in public schools. Standardized testing has ruined the concept of well-rounded educations. Now it's all about math and English, math and English. My 7th-grade daughter didn't know who Gerald Ford was, and unless my wife and I teach her she'll never know because they don't study American history past the Revolutionary War in middle school anymore.

6. I wish Charlie Kaufman would hurry up and write another movie.

7. I wish I'd hurry up and finish the movie I'm writing.

8. I wish everything was less expensive.

9. I wish I could get into shape by drinking beer and eating pretzels, like I could when I was 21.

10. I wish all of you a happy, healthy and prosperous 2007.

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