Cowed by the financial crisis, American consumers are pulling back on their spending, all but guaranteeing that the economic situation will get worse before it gets better. New York Times 06 Oct 08.
There is much quibble these days about keeping "the church" in separate terms to "the state". People are wildly afraid of spiritual aspiration and assertion, knowing little of the true vocabulary and really only being able to conjure up passe examples of fear-based religion, nunnery goes numchuck. This saddens me indefinitely because all life lived is done in effort to manifest happiness and real religious values [not those irreverently mocked on TV] have a monopoly on the search for happiness. But a sacred survey on the truth of happiness is revolutionary in one sense that keeps this "church" far apart from "the state" - contentment.
"Keep your beliefs out of my legislature!", they howl. This isn't difficult to agree with - when one claims to have expertise on such complex issues like morality, the ground is not far from their ego-boasting face. Yet, there is a different kind of religion that is painfully perseverating in our public land - The Church of Consumer Capitalism. And this one doesn't seem to be degraded so deftly, in fact it is the cornerstone of our state. If religion is a tunnel into the realm of utmost reality and a facet to search for happiness [as many people concur], then the Gospel According to the Mall of America doesn't fall distantly from that tree. Purchasing power in the capitalistic market is seen as a big key to human happiness. iphones, Pietro Alessandro, pottery barn - all pieces that are portrayed in the pursuit for peace. Yet the heart and soul of consumer capitalism is to keep us unhappy and unsatisfied so we will continue to seek the big H. A large portion of our economy is tied up in this human happiness peril. When our shopping bags are converted into reusuable handbags, and family vacations stay immobile, our financial arterials collapse.
We belong to a system that is rooted in greed. The majority of the country operates regularly in a world where enough is an appropriate description. Yet, that is a standard that is never to be met [or at least defined as such], lest we the people acquire contentment outside of taxable, grocery goods. It is a detestable when new needs are generated just so wants can be justified and the well-oiled chains of capitalism can rule once again. So if I were to revolutionarily find contentment, thus decrease my perception of need, I am attempting murder on our economy [or so goes the threat]. How sinister is a system that relies on one of the most debased human tendencies for its viability?
Either buy or get off the pot. But don't worry a new need is on the horizon so there will be plenty of opportunity to spend! Spend! SPEND!! Wait...are you proselytizing to me? Please keep your church separate from my state.
06 October 2008
01 June 2008
proud to be angry?
When I look down, I see such small feet. As I scan up I realize they have connections to my own legs and I am reminded again of the negligible print I am pressing on this expansive world. The bony pes / preformed footprint ratio is shrinking continuously as I learn of the impassioned and active community I am part of in this pursuit of obsolescence management. I follow in honored steps and stand on the shoulders of giants, knowing deeply and deftly that I am but a faint facsimile of a conglomeration of superheroes and heroines in the world of conscience coexistence. I've surfeited in the emblazoned results of other's hard work and can't help but feel both lucky and lazy. Why does such coalescing and cooperative communities find their way into my reality? How did I get so fortunate to be of the elastic nature of such good people? And will I ever be able to even return one one-hundredth of that which has been presented to me? I fear I am a hapless vagabond when it comes to giving to the equivalence, nay beyond the equivalence, of what has been given to me.
Of my recent days, I have been replaying the lessons learned via the subversive, yet purely optimistic, author, John Perkins. You may know him from Confessions of An Economic Hit Man or, more recently, The Secret History of an American Empire. I attribute a substantial proportion of my political antennas to his work, or at least a fine tuning of the skepticism necessary to live conscientiously, consistently and collectively with the unspoken ways of our global polis. He spoke at our local library last week to a crowd so large that would make any fire marshal fidget. Here is where that massive footprint bears its glory! I am sitting shoulder to shoulder with cortical creativity I can only covet. I am communing with spiritual appetites so satiating, regardless of creed or religious allegiance. Words and worries, signs and stories of true regard for the welfare of others and not just others that are us in similar garments but a buoyant bowl of divergent personalities. Perkins exuded contagious optimism, a welcomed surprise to me. He truly believes we are of a generation that is generating real change and commitment to betterment. That we are catapulting into a dynamic course of conscience living where the earth is no longer our waste bucket and our neighbor no longer a means to our own end. People are passionate and persevering beyond the former years.
I can sign this treaty and sing the triumph that this represents. Again, just a lucky player in this act of rethinking life on Earth. But am I just proud that I belong to a collective mentality that cries for the injustice of the rich-poor divide? Am I just comfortable enough in the good works of the people around me to dupe myself in believing my piece is taking care of? When I began to peak behind the scenes of some of my usual store purchases and learned that rain forests were being destroyed, children were enslaved, and life was ruthlessly disrespected all for the sake of profit, I felt evil by proxy. I already felt so insignificant when it came to human rights on massive scales, this just made me indirectly guilty for those horrific affronts against my distantly occupied sisters and brothers. it was easy to change when confronted in that context. But I rarely think to write the companies I proudly protest against to tell them why I am, inciting another voice in the campaign against the damaging norm. Nor do I think to write letters of appreciation or encouragement for those organizations that are doing well for many. By not buying Post cereal without telling the makers of Post, I don't really help necrose the root problem. I just mollify my guilty mind so I feel better about myself.
Which brings up an interesting point. It seems like it is a badge of honor to be outraged about things. If you aren't angry then you are not paying attention...or so it goes. The activist in each one of us seems proud to be concerned about such harrowing things, almost ad nauseum. I realize it is an emaciated line between standing up as the oppressed with the oppressed and defeating the very obvious battles of societies greatest woes and that of just bitching about things because it is the sexy thing to do [depending on which circle of friends you associate with]. I know, in the authentic center of it all, that my motives - for the most part - are the infusion of a higher power and the intentions are clean. Yet I can't but wonder if am I so concerned about the world food shortage (e.g) because I need reasons to make myself feel better when I get into the disparaging habit of comparing myself to another person where I am destined to lose in the face-off. "I may not be as attractive as she is but at least I remember to bring my take-away coffee mug." When are good deeds compensations for lousy self-perceptions? As damaged as that sounds, I know somewhere in that convoluted concept there is a gem of godly truth, perhaps one that represents less attention to self [both positive and negative approaches].
I don't want to hate Wal-Mart. I don't want to write off any good gesture that the company does as another mechanism of greenwashing. I don't want to be mad at my friends if they buy Mitsubishi vehicles. I want real change. I want fair labor, living wages, clean environments, animal diversity, equal rights...a peaceful people with real grace to give and receive. I don't want to be disgusted at myself. I don't want to become the thoughts that overcome my mind. I want to be a receptive vessel that welcomes the clouds and works with them when an imperfect world is the best and all we've got.
Of my recent days, I have been replaying the lessons learned via the subversive, yet purely optimistic, author, John Perkins. You may know him from Confessions of An Economic Hit Man or, more recently, The Secret History of an American Empire. I attribute a substantial proportion of my political antennas to his work, or at least a fine tuning of the skepticism necessary to live conscientiously, consistently and collectively with the unspoken ways of our global polis. He spoke at our local library last week to a crowd so large that would make any fire marshal fidget. Here is where that massive footprint bears its glory! I am sitting shoulder to shoulder with cortical creativity I can only covet. I am communing with spiritual appetites so satiating, regardless of creed or religious allegiance. Words and worries, signs and stories of true regard for the welfare of others and not just others that are us in similar garments but a buoyant bowl of divergent personalities. Perkins exuded contagious optimism, a welcomed surprise to me. He truly believes we are of a generation that is generating real change and commitment to betterment. That we are catapulting into a dynamic course of conscience living where the earth is no longer our waste bucket and our neighbor no longer a means to our own end. People are passionate and persevering beyond the former years.
I can sign this treaty and sing the triumph that this represents. Again, just a lucky player in this act of rethinking life on Earth. But am I just proud that I belong to a collective mentality that cries for the injustice of the rich-poor divide? Am I just comfortable enough in the good works of the people around me to dupe myself in believing my piece is taking care of? When I began to peak behind the scenes of some of my usual store purchases and learned that rain forests were being destroyed, children were enslaved, and life was ruthlessly disrespected all for the sake of profit, I felt evil by proxy. I already felt so insignificant when it came to human rights on massive scales, this just made me indirectly guilty for those horrific affronts against my distantly occupied sisters and brothers. it was easy to change when confronted in that context. But I rarely think to write the companies I proudly protest against to tell them why I am, inciting another voice in the campaign against the damaging norm. Nor do I think to write letters of appreciation or encouragement for those organizations that are doing well for many. By not buying Post cereal without telling the makers of Post, I don't really help necrose the root problem. I just mollify my guilty mind so I feel better about myself.
Which brings up an interesting point. It seems like it is a badge of honor to be outraged about things. If you aren't angry then you are not paying attention...or so it goes. The activist in each one of us seems proud to be concerned about such harrowing things, almost ad nauseum. I realize it is an emaciated line between standing up as the oppressed with the oppressed and defeating the very obvious battles of societies greatest woes and that of just bitching about things because it is the sexy thing to do [depending on which circle of friends you associate with]. I know, in the authentic center of it all, that my motives - for the most part - are the infusion of a higher power and the intentions are clean. Yet I can't but wonder if am I so concerned about the world food shortage (e.g) because I need reasons to make myself feel better when I get into the disparaging habit of comparing myself to another person where I am destined to lose in the face-off. "I may not be as attractive as she is but at least I remember to bring my take-away coffee mug." When are good deeds compensations for lousy self-perceptions? As damaged as that sounds, I know somewhere in that convoluted concept there is a gem of godly truth, perhaps one that represents less attention to self [both positive and negative approaches].
I don't want to hate Wal-Mart. I don't want to write off any good gesture that the company does as another mechanism of greenwashing. I don't want to be mad at my friends if they buy Mitsubishi vehicles. I want real change. I want fair labor, living wages, clean environments, animal diversity, equal rights...a peaceful people with real grace to give and receive. I don't want to be disgusted at myself. I don't want to become the thoughts that overcome my mind. I want to be a receptive vessel that welcomes the clouds and works with them when an imperfect world is the best and all we've got.
07 April 2008
internal management
Although my words have been away, my commitment has not. I have kept diligently to the ways of obsolescence management since I last wrote, communing with my higher ideals on issues of consumerism and being consumed.
In early March, I set prints of my feet abounding in the city of Seattle. To celebrate another break in the academic world, I answered the pleading requests of my travel intuition and finally took a trip to a land I knew was destined to feel like home. The choice to travel was easy, the mode of transport was not. I attempted, unsuccessfully, to travel by land with the familiar buses of greyhound. In a series of slightly nondescript events, a vague sense of opposition to the 35 hour bus ride arose in me. Commute by train was never a plausible option and neither was gassing up my own mid-size Ford machine to make the cross-country excursion. So, I finally succumbed to the air. Not that I oppose travel by plane absolutely, I just recognize the insane amount of resources needed to get me from starting to end point. I assuaged my own apprehension by purchasing an itinerary that didn't involve a quick trip to Atlanta, GEORGIA [see map] before heading west-bound. This inefficient system of the airlines doesn't bode well for increased consumer confidence in plane travel. All the same, I attribute my choice in the flying method to some of the most noteworthy experiences of my spring break. Perhaps the most memorable, and fitting for this outfit, was the chance meeting of me and William M.
William M. is the musical director the Church of Stop Shopping, a la Reverend Billy Talen. I first became aware of this political activist group last Christmas season with the release of What Would Jesus Buy?, a Morgan Spurlock documentary about the woes of mindless overconsumption and empty relationships burdened by unnatural materialism. It followed the Church on a one-month cross-country tour, ending in Disney World on Christmas morning. Obsolescence management '08 began the fertilization process under the direct influence of this documentary and a few choice experiences that followed shortly after. William and I met waiting for a bus at the Seattle airport. It was uncomfortably late in the night for me to be making harmless chat with strangers. I consider myself an available person at most times to situations like these, yet I chose to play the scene a bit more cautiously. Although we boarded the same bus, we parted ways without a second thought in my mind. William and I met again at our shared hostel downtown Seattle. We both laughed at this coincidence and I sensed the world getting smaller by the second. The small talk that resulted was enough to sustain a further conversation the next morning at breakfast, where we met for the third, unplanned, time. Upon this meeting, I learned of his fame. It was difficult for me to contain the natural, albeit partially awkward, excitement to this news. I knew of the Church, I supported the mission. I even participated in a small mimicry of their mission in my own town, just days before Christmas [my friends and I did some anti-caroling at a popular shopping area, encouraging patrons to spend time, not money]. This had to be enough to make a friendly connection. I was not disappointed. Later that day, I joined the choir at their performance on the University of Washington campus and took in actively the powerful message of this comical group. A late dinner was shared even. William and Co and myself belonged to a community of believers that seek to understand the ways of our shopped-out world. Not because we detest the economy of our country. Not because we claim to adhere to certain political beliefs or religious commitments. But because we all are desperate for real relationships with each other. This includes the invisible hands that stitch our jean pockets and the CEOs of those Fortune 500 companies. It is truly tragic to what great lengths have been transgressed to win the approval of others. When we operate with a mindset that implores us to look a certain way, donning strategic garments and flashy technologies, and praises the hands that juggle the most, we have surrendered the pure, some say divine, bond that could (and so eagerly wants to) exist between us all, authentically. It is not our perfecting souls that find one another but rather our tanned bodies and retail therapy sessions.
I did buy something new: a padlock. I needed it for my hostel stay in Seattle. This was not realized until hours before my departure and I could find no padlock for loan. I morned this sacrifice but I recognized the reasoning behind my need for said new item.
As of late, the dwellings of my intent have been on obsolescence management on the inside. It has only been of recent years that I have accepted, and now embraced, the introverted ways of my organic personality. I mistakenly thought a quiet disposition often misinterpreted as shyness was a lack of confidence. This is destructively wrong, of course, as the examined individual realizes that the internal world is much more complex than a high-school mentality of popular and not. Our society is built on the convenience of disposables - water bottles, one-use cameras, cheap friendships to be used and discarded. Such are our intuitions and emotional intellect. We praise the masculine attitude of strength and action and decry the feminine attitude of reflection and receptivity. Never shall you admit a wounded wing or tender heart, lest you look weak and emotional. My current activity of the latter: repaying evil. How do I compensate that which I perceive to be evil - done to me, others, entities, ideals, my religion? Goethe writes, "If you treat a man as he appears to be, you make him worse than he is. But if you treat a man as if he already were what he potentially could be, you make him what he should be."
The power of our mind's perception can fuel an obsolescence management - with materials and humans. It can be the source of authenticity.
In early March, I set prints of my feet abounding in the city of Seattle. To celebrate another break in the academic world, I answered the pleading requests of my travel intuition and finally took a trip to a land I knew was destined to feel like home. The choice to travel was easy, the mode of transport was not. I attempted, unsuccessfully, to travel by land with the familiar buses of greyhound. In a series of slightly nondescript events, a vague sense of opposition to the 35 hour bus ride arose in me. Commute by train was never a plausible option and neither was gassing up my own mid-size Ford machine to make the cross-country excursion. So, I finally succumbed to the air. Not that I oppose travel by plane absolutely, I just recognize the insane amount of resources needed to get me from starting to end point. I assuaged my own apprehension by purchasing an itinerary that didn't involve a quick trip to Atlanta, GEORGIA [see map] before heading west-bound. This inefficient system of the airlines doesn't bode well for increased consumer confidence in plane travel. All the same, I attribute my choice in the flying method to some of the most noteworthy experiences of my spring break. Perhaps the most memorable, and fitting for this outfit, was the chance meeting of me and William M.
William M. is the musical director the Church of Stop Shopping, a la Reverend Billy Talen. I first became aware of this political activist group last Christmas season with the release of What Would Jesus Buy?, a Morgan Spurlock documentary about the woes of mindless overconsumption and empty relationships burdened by unnatural materialism. It followed the Church on a one-month cross-country tour, ending in Disney World on Christmas morning. Obsolescence management '08 began the fertilization process under the direct influence of this documentary and a few choice experiences that followed shortly after. William and I met waiting for a bus at the Seattle airport. It was uncomfortably late in the night for me to be making harmless chat with strangers. I consider myself an available person at most times to situations like these, yet I chose to play the scene a bit more cautiously. Although we boarded the same bus, we parted ways without a second thought in my mind. William and I met again at our shared hostel downtown Seattle. We both laughed at this coincidence and I sensed the world getting smaller by the second. The small talk that resulted was enough to sustain a further conversation the next morning at breakfast, where we met for the third, unplanned, time. Upon this meeting, I learned of his fame. It was difficult for me to contain the natural, albeit partially awkward, excitement to this news. I knew of the Church, I supported the mission. I even participated in a small mimicry of their mission in my own town, just days before Christmas [my friends and I did some anti-caroling at a popular shopping area, encouraging patrons to spend time, not money]. This had to be enough to make a friendly connection. I was not disappointed. Later that day, I joined the choir at their performance on the University of Washington campus and took in actively the powerful message of this comical group. A late dinner was shared even. William and Co and myself belonged to a community of believers that seek to understand the ways of our shopped-out world. Not because we detest the economy of our country. Not because we claim to adhere to certain political beliefs or religious commitments. But because we all are desperate for real relationships with each other. This includes the invisible hands that stitch our jean pockets and the CEOs of those Fortune 500 companies. It is truly tragic to what great lengths have been transgressed to win the approval of others. When we operate with a mindset that implores us to look a certain way, donning strategic garments and flashy technologies, and praises the hands that juggle the most, we have surrendered the pure, some say divine, bond that could (and so eagerly wants to) exist between us all, authentically. It is not our perfecting souls that find one another but rather our tanned bodies and retail therapy sessions.
I did buy something new: a padlock. I needed it for my hostel stay in Seattle. This was not realized until hours before my departure and I could find no padlock for loan. I morned this sacrifice but I recognized the reasoning behind my need for said new item.
As of late, the dwellings of my intent have been on obsolescence management on the inside. It has only been of recent years that I have accepted, and now embraced, the introverted ways of my organic personality. I mistakenly thought a quiet disposition often misinterpreted as shyness was a lack of confidence. This is destructively wrong, of course, as the examined individual realizes that the internal world is much more complex than a high-school mentality of popular and not. Our society is built on the convenience of disposables - water bottles, one-use cameras, cheap friendships to be used and discarded. Such are our intuitions and emotional intellect. We praise the masculine attitude of strength and action and decry the feminine attitude of reflection and receptivity. Never shall you admit a wounded wing or tender heart, lest you look weak and emotional. My current activity of the latter: repaying evil. How do I compensate that which I perceive to be evil - done to me, others, entities, ideals, my religion? Goethe writes, "If you treat a man as he appears to be, you make him worse than he is. But if you treat a man as if he already were what he potentially could be, you make him what he should be."
The power of our mind's perception can fuel an obsolescence management - with materials and humans. It can be the source of authenticity.
26 January 2008
traffic melee in the grocery store
After twenty-six days in Obsolescence Management 2008, I feel unimpressed with my challenge. The struggle has been minimal and the change less drastic than some would imagine. Yet. Although nothing new has been under the influence of my otherwise naturally greedy hands, I still sense a disconnect with money and my (lack of) understanding of it. The paper volume of (in)visible greenbacks from my hands, either electronic or anatomic, to the tills of coffee places, eateries and automatic bill deduction services, is outrageous. I find little authority in the arguments around economic recessions and patriotic duty to buy! buy! buy!. If I am about to receive a large amount of cash from the government for no apparent reason than to stimulate a corrupt system of take and take, I would rather not, thank you very much. And who or what are we stimulating with such tax cuts? The coffers of prodigious businessmen? Some have called them "Wal-Mart Gift Certificates" or have used the fascinating, and oddly applicable, term of "Clitoral Economics" . Under the influence of my simple understanding of how our country's economic wheels turn, I imagine financial decisions like these are meant to be uppers for the lowers of our society, ones already on benders from the poor treatment that probably helped get them where they are today . This, undoubtedly, is just a stratagem employed by powerful hands desperate to keep their gold-plated lifestyle. Sounds similar to the politics of the woman's pleasure. Is it really ever about the woman? Or just a flashy style of vernacular geared towards the needs of man? Perhaps, the clitoral economics is all shame, too. We speak with big words of how deeply invested we are in the neediest lives of our brothers and sisters, yet we act unaware most of the time when faced with the reality of their poverty. Here's to looking out for Number One, huh, political demigods? Radix malorum est cupiditas
As for me, I am looking out for a way out - a break from unintentional, mindless existences. I am charting and coursing what it would take for me to see the cable cars to the divine with in and out of my mortal body. I figure by taping into this transportation my transformation, although piecemeal and belabored, will have sustainability as its core protein. At my current station, I am attending to the delicacies of market flow within one of our larger (and contrived) ecosystems - the supermarket. Although I am generally turned off by warfare metaphors, I feel liberated in saying that the boxed and processed isles of SuperMarket USA are like another cold war (re: corn war). There are many small battles that are desperate for some personal diplomacy in the land of the shopping cart. The largest benefactor in this effort? Time, really. To take a helping of intention and attend to the unspoken handcuffs between our hands and our food requires time. Unfortunately, the peak of traffic in your local Hy-Vee is roughly half way through rush hour time, as people propel there hurried bodies to the ready-made section to find something edible to done tonight's dinner table. Edible doesn't (always) mean credible, however. It would be nice to put things in my body that were closer in recognition and appearance to Panicum virgatum than Formula 409 All Purpose Cleaner. This process of mindful shopping is challenging, for I was not brought up in society to look at anything besides price and fat content. So I am imperfect with the cold handle of cart beneath my hands but I am attempting to feel and recognize that cold metal as the vessel of modern day imperialism in my (and many other's) lives. So taking price and fat content, what else must I take an owl's eye towards? Here's a few
1. Social Responsibility. It was a dark day when I realized Athenos Hummus was owned and operated by Phillip Morris. And how come only the Post cereals are ever on sale? Why does it seem that the lowest ticket prices are affiliated with some of the most scandalous companies? After I discovered the Better World Handbook back in 2004, I knew I had involuntarily and irreversibly signed myself up for a new level of conscious thought. By purchasing Nabisco crackers, I was saying to the world " I don't care, Altria, if you are involved with some of the most egregious acts of greenwashing and public deception. Give me your Triscuits!!". Who would have thought that Minute Maid had many human rights allegations against them or that Hormel supports inhumane factory farming? It doesn't say these things on the boxes, just the fat content and some gargantuan picture of a cereal flake looking ever so delectable. The hard part? I will not see an immediate reaction after not buying a Kraft product. My $3.89, now going to another company that pays its workers a living wage, doesn't seem to even nick the paint on the trailer's bumper of that monstrous company car of Corporate America (insert CEO of any major food supplier on our shelves). Maybe my pocketbook is even injured because of this revelation. That is why responsible shopping takes time and planning. I would rather buy nothing than buy something that forced a 12 year old into a sweatshop.
2. Corn content. Recent time has been the parental figure of this discovery. Jumping on the Omnivore's Dilemma bus, I am repeatedly amazed at the amount of things I leave unnoticed everyday. I was shocked by how corn is the dictator of our kitchen. Michael Pollan calls us "corn chips with legs". He is disturbingly correct. We are an artificially sweetened culture (aside: even in the way we show love and appreciation for each other). My Fiber One bars, those large bowel aphrodisiacs, are a log of high fructose corn syrup. Many processed food products are infused and filled with corn-based fillers. This end result is the driving force behind some unfortunate farming practices that have left the farmer's plate practically devoid of anything but animal feed, a hard swallow for a family with complex body needs. Because we are a soda-saturated society, we need a cash crop that will feed such an addiction. Because we are a meat-eating people, we need a cash crop that will fatten our calves faster than we can slaughter them. Because we are fossil-fuel fanatics, we need misleading alternative energy sources that are heavily based in corn (and thus still enslaved to those nonrenewable resources). Our bodies are screaming at us, admonishing us to listen to them and their inherent wisdom. We suffocate that pledge by plunging down our food hole another product caked in a corn-derived sugar source. Oh, how deeply we are afflicted against our need for intimate connection to our bodies.
3. Location, location, location. I never thought about the distance my food travels to get to me, shiny and ready for immediate consumption until recently. Of course there is the gold standard in this effort: the 100-mile diet. Here is another quadrant that requires our clock's freedom. Look next time at the place of production of your boxed food. Or that banana. I admit my struggle. I want that orange that traveled hundreds of miles (or when I wasn't a vegetarian, I wanted that delicious sea creature that I knew wasn't coming from Lake Calhoun). What am I supposed to do when farmer's markets are out of style for the winter in my midwestern home? It is very easy to belittle our efforts and quit altogether due to extreme fatigue and consumerism depression. I know there exists, betwixt mindless and maxed out, an appropriate middle-ground where we press on with our efforts but have mercy on each other. This in one area I need it the most. Here is a website, a pretty good one too, that reminds us when fruits and veggies are in season and thus are best for buying. It may be a small penance but it is, in the very least, putting attention to a necessary detail.
But a few. Others to the list include: eating a more vegetarian/vegan friendly diet, buying organic when possible (and sensible, i.e. organic from Chile?), and using this for a budget friendly way to approach our shopping waves.
It all comes back to mindful living. What are you putting in your body? Who are you surrounding that body with? And what is that body doing to be connected to the reality of each other?
As for me, I am looking out for a way out - a break from unintentional, mindless existences. I am charting and coursing what it would take for me to see the cable cars to the divine with in and out of my mortal body. I figure by taping into this transportation my transformation, although piecemeal and belabored, will have sustainability as its core protein. At my current station, I am attending to the delicacies of market flow within one of our larger (and contrived) ecosystems - the supermarket. Although I am generally turned off by warfare metaphors, I feel liberated in saying that the boxed and processed isles of SuperMarket USA are like another cold war (re: corn war). There are many small battles that are desperate for some personal diplomacy in the land of the shopping cart. The largest benefactor in this effort? Time, really. To take a helping of intention and attend to the unspoken handcuffs between our hands and our food requires time. Unfortunately, the peak of traffic in your local Hy-Vee is roughly half way through rush hour time, as people propel there hurried bodies to the ready-made section to find something edible to done tonight's dinner table. Edible doesn't (always) mean credible, however. It would be nice to put things in my body that were closer in recognition and appearance to Panicum virgatum than Formula 409 All Purpose Cleaner. This process of mindful shopping is challenging, for I was not brought up in society to look at anything besides price and fat content. So I am imperfect with the cold handle of cart beneath my hands but I am attempting to feel and recognize that cold metal as the vessel of modern day imperialism in my (and many other's) lives. So taking price and fat content, what else must I take an owl's eye towards? Here's a few
1. Social Responsibility. It was a dark day when I realized Athenos Hummus was owned and operated by Phillip Morris. And how come only the Post cereals are ever on sale? Why does it seem that the lowest ticket prices are affiliated with some of the most scandalous companies? After I discovered the Better World Handbook back in 2004, I knew I had involuntarily and irreversibly signed myself up for a new level of conscious thought. By purchasing Nabisco crackers, I was saying to the world " I don't care, Altria, if you are involved with some of the most egregious acts of greenwashing and public deception. Give me your Triscuits!!". Who would have thought that Minute Maid had many human rights allegations against them or that Hormel supports inhumane factory farming? It doesn't say these things on the boxes, just the fat content and some gargantuan picture of a cereal flake looking ever so delectable. The hard part? I will not see an immediate reaction after not buying a Kraft product. My $3.89, now going to another company that pays its workers a living wage, doesn't seem to even nick the paint on the trailer's bumper of that monstrous company car of Corporate America (insert CEO of any major food supplier on our shelves). Maybe my pocketbook is even injured because of this revelation. That is why responsible shopping takes time and planning. I would rather buy nothing than buy something that forced a 12 year old into a sweatshop.
2. Corn content. Recent time has been the parental figure of this discovery. Jumping on the Omnivore's Dilemma bus, I am repeatedly amazed at the amount of things I leave unnoticed everyday. I was shocked by how corn is the dictator of our kitchen. Michael Pollan calls us "corn chips with legs". He is disturbingly correct. We are an artificially sweetened culture (aside: even in the way we show love and appreciation for each other). My Fiber One bars, those large bowel aphrodisiacs, are a log of high fructose corn syrup. Many processed food products are infused and filled with corn-based fillers. This end result is the driving force behind some unfortunate farming practices that have left the farmer's plate practically devoid of anything but animal feed, a hard swallow for a family with complex body needs. Because we are a soda-saturated society, we need a cash crop that will feed such an addiction. Because we are a meat-eating people, we need a cash crop that will fatten our calves faster than we can slaughter them. Because we are fossil-fuel fanatics, we need misleading alternative energy sources that are heavily based in corn (and thus still enslaved to those nonrenewable resources). Our bodies are screaming at us, admonishing us to listen to them and their inherent wisdom. We suffocate that pledge by plunging down our food hole another product caked in a corn-derived sugar source. Oh, how deeply we are afflicted against our need for intimate connection to our bodies.
3. Location, location, location. I never thought about the distance my food travels to get to me, shiny and ready for immediate consumption until recently. Of course there is the gold standard in this effort: the 100-mile diet. Here is another quadrant that requires our clock's freedom. Look next time at the place of production of your boxed food. Or that banana. I admit my struggle. I want that orange that traveled hundreds of miles (or when I wasn't a vegetarian, I wanted that delicious sea creature that I knew wasn't coming from Lake Calhoun). What am I supposed to do when farmer's markets are out of style for the winter in my midwestern home? It is very easy to belittle our efforts and quit altogether due to extreme fatigue and consumerism depression. I know there exists, betwixt mindless and maxed out, an appropriate middle-ground where we press on with our efforts but have mercy on each other. This in one area I need it the most. Here is a website, a pretty good one too, that reminds us when fruits and veggies are in season and thus are best for buying. It may be a small penance but it is, in the very least, putting attention to a necessary detail.
But a few. Others to the list include: eating a more vegetarian/vegan friendly diet, buying organic when possible (and sensible, i.e. organic from Chile?), and using this for a budget friendly way to approach our shopping waves.
It all comes back to mindful living. What are you putting in your body? Who are you surrounding that body with? And what is that body doing to be connected to the reality of each other?
15 January 2008
the importance differential
Obsolescence management, according to my continued evolution of the concept, is not about following arbitrarily self-designed and regulated constructs, as in the strictest of deontological ideals, but rather, and if you are familiar with my teleological inclinations this is of no shock value, an in-depth analysis of the trends of the trade that are my natural "consume and dispose" tendencies. This concerted effort to buy nothing new for the year, which may or may not prove to be such an arduous experiment, is a thesis statement for a paradigm shift in the ways I view money and economics, creation and destruction, politics and the polis it controls and, ultimately, the imperialism we suffer through and exert on others. Said in another way, it is the practice of devoting intention to my actions, the words that fuel those actions and the thoughts that give way to the words that open or close my ability to connect with others in meaningful ways. It is knowing what I am doing and doing what I know to be the right decision for my and other's reality.
I have been fielding many interesting "What if?" questions regarding this goal and a lot of them are the unexposed seams to this outfit, scenarios that are thrown (or would be thrown) at me as to identify "weak areas" where the original plan may crumble under my own lack of foresight. The truth to the answer I have been giving is that this commitment isn't my attempt to resurrect old pharisaism. Although I respect Kantian theory (to the extent I understand it), I am not acting out on rigid duty (however I am sure at some point, nay many points, in the year I will have to simply to get me past some of the otherwise hard-to-resist consumerism opportunities). I believe in some irrational things and tout many inverted philosophies but I would rather not feign impassioned resistance. The year isn't about choosing misery and it is not being forced upon me from a ruthless regime. If by abstaining in the purchase of some new item brings about for me an extensive sympathetic response and utter melancholy (and thus prohibits me from making meaningful connections with other), I will step outside the rules of this game and do it. Only, though, if it can be done with clarity in intention and philosophical backing. I am not so ignorant to believe that I am and will be free from the pressures of my market driven world.
Since the money I use to sustain my lifestyle isn't really my money (student loan-based income) and I receive that check without exchange of some service on my part (only the promise to repay with interest), it can't really be called money, in my opinion. It is a false sense of control over the luxuries I have deemed necessary for a "comfortable" and sensible way of existence. We all have that choice, an importance differential, but we do not all have the ability for it to be funded. This is where obsolescence management enters in. We must know what can and cannot be supported in our importance differential. Big deal, you say, a budget. Yet budgets are almost passé these days, thanks to the ease of credit. A budget, not to forget, can do little to address the oppression our monies may cause for others. I may set aside $50 for groceries each week, and that would help me get out of debt and start living free from the red (if that is even the truth is still disputed); yet, if I am filling my cupboards with Altria-based products (like Kraft) and never once think about the dirty connections that company has to life-destroying actions, how can I say that my budget is a sound and satisfying financial decision. I cannot and should not because to the least of these I have showed my grace, or lack thereof, and I, ultimately, want to find many ways to keep my hands clean of fraud, deception and death.
I took an informal poll of some of my peers on what draws their disposable pocketbooks (if they had one, of course) to open up and be released. The overwhelming majority? Travel. There is a permeating response of my generation to explore with our own eyes, to move past a two-dimensional Rand McNally World Map into a realm of personally perceived sensations. Reading about the people of Namibia is not enough when our passports can breakdown physical distance. Travel is in my top five, as well, and I wonder why I want to travel and how this creates life in myself and others or, a fear of mine, how this may actually destroy life instead. I asked people what they would want to spend their money on (all basic needs aside) because I realized not everyone would think my $7-yoga classes were worth the economical investment if I were trying to live closer to reality of simplicity and the poor ways of my fellow-oppressed brothers and sisters. I found myself in an internal defense meeting, justifying this choice to an unseen jury and I came quick to the merciful idea that each one of us goes through that importance differential differently. This experiment is also about increasing the access to mercy for others, buffering the karma of second chances to all of us. I may choose to spend money on yoga or travel as opposed to Louis Vuitton bags. Someone else may select the latter. If I want to encourage an environment that brings people together in meaningful and lasting ways, then I must be able to at least try to understand someone else's priority ranking. That does not mean I am priming myself to carry a $300 handbag. It just means I have another window to look through in an attempt to end prejudice. I need that. We all need that.
I have been fielding many interesting "What if?" questions regarding this goal and a lot of them are the unexposed seams to this outfit, scenarios that are thrown (or would be thrown) at me as to identify "weak areas" where the original plan may crumble under my own lack of foresight. The truth to the answer I have been giving is that this commitment isn't my attempt to resurrect old pharisaism. Although I respect Kantian theory (to the extent I understand it), I am not acting out on rigid duty (however I am sure at some point, nay many points, in the year I will have to simply to get me past some of the otherwise hard-to-resist consumerism opportunities). I believe in some irrational things and tout many inverted philosophies but I would rather not feign impassioned resistance. The year isn't about choosing misery and it is not being forced upon me from a ruthless regime. If by abstaining in the purchase of some new item brings about for me an extensive sympathetic response and utter melancholy (and thus prohibits me from making meaningful connections with other), I will step outside the rules of this game and do it. Only, though, if it can be done with clarity in intention and philosophical backing. I am not so ignorant to believe that I am and will be free from the pressures of my market driven world.
Since the money I use to sustain my lifestyle isn't really my money (student loan-based income) and I receive that check without exchange of some service on my part (only the promise to repay with interest), it can't really be called money, in my opinion. It is a false sense of control over the luxuries I have deemed necessary for a "comfortable" and sensible way of existence. We all have that choice, an importance differential, but we do not all have the ability for it to be funded. This is where obsolescence management enters in. We must know what can and cannot be supported in our importance differential. Big deal, you say, a budget. Yet budgets are almost passé these days, thanks to the ease of credit. A budget, not to forget, can do little to address the oppression our monies may cause for others. I may set aside $50 for groceries each week, and that would help me get out of debt and start living free from the red (if that is even the truth is still disputed); yet, if I am filling my cupboards with Altria-based products (like Kraft) and never once think about the dirty connections that company has to life-destroying actions, how can I say that my budget is a sound and satisfying financial decision. I cannot and should not because to the least of these I have showed my grace, or lack thereof, and I, ultimately, want to find many ways to keep my hands clean of fraud, deception and death.
I took an informal poll of some of my peers on what draws their disposable pocketbooks (if they had one, of course) to open up and be released. The overwhelming majority? Travel. There is a permeating response of my generation to explore with our own eyes, to move past a two-dimensional Rand McNally World Map into a realm of personally perceived sensations. Reading about the people of Namibia is not enough when our passports can breakdown physical distance. Travel is in my top five, as well, and I wonder why I want to travel and how this creates life in myself and others or, a fear of mine, how this may actually destroy life instead. I asked people what they would want to spend their money on (all basic needs aside) because I realized not everyone would think my $7-yoga classes were worth the economical investment if I were trying to live closer to reality of simplicity and the poor ways of my fellow-oppressed brothers and sisters. I found myself in an internal defense meeting, justifying this choice to an unseen jury and I came quick to the merciful idea that each one of us goes through that importance differential differently. This experiment is also about increasing the access to mercy for others, buffering the karma of second chances to all of us. I may choose to spend money on yoga or travel as opposed to Louis Vuitton bags. Someone else may select the latter. If I want to encourage an environment that brings people together in meaningful and lasting ways, then I must be able to at least try to understand someone else's priority ranking. That does not mean I am priming myself to carry a $300 handbag. It just means I have another window to look through in an attempt to end prejudice. I need that. We all need that.
06 January 2008
ready to pop...
Sometimes I am tempted to make a comparison between the consumer-centered lives we live with that of David Vetter. I do this with great sensitivity, undoubtedly, because, after all, he had a tragic, incapacitating rare genetic condition called severe combined immunodeficiency (SCID) that purchased for him a sterile existence in a bubble. The Boy in the Plastic Bubble, remember? For the majority of us, we are wrapped in plastic in this extensive derivation, in a sense. There is the easy parallel to a "plasticized" world - credit cards, impenetrable #6 plastics, and single serving size snacks. These are all for our convenience [except those highly dangerous packaging techniques that are used for products like batteries and Dora the Explorer dolls] and a sensation of ease. Along with the ease and the convenience, we are surrounded in a bubble of obtuseness, conscious or subconsciously. Yet this isn't always a self-imposed disregard for the reality of things, sometimes it is a habit so deeply ingrained and entrained of the acceptable and expectable procedural steps of human living that we feel neither right nor wrong at our current method of owning. Hence, a bubble.
For starters, we are far removed from the production of the things that pepper our living room buffet. Rarely do we know who stitched our pants, harvested our potatoes, bottled our soda, or installed our cable television. We are given no biographical sketch of the life of the item we are about to make our own, forgetting all together that it is even a dynamic example of living and dying, regardless if it considered an inanimate object or not. Even the most synthetic and unnatural of products have been handled with human hands, connected to real bodies that are less unlike our own than we give them credit. Although it feels like election time is all the time and we are just puppet's in some politicians imagination, we are casting ballots with fiber-like regularity. Ever dollar we spend is a check in some box, supporting an unseen crowd of profiteers and bulls in neckties. I must ease a bit at my jeering for I honestly do not believe we are a people of evil intentions and disrupted agendas. I do, though, think we are wounded wills wiggling and writhing against corruptible systems that have nothing in their periphery that resembles are "best interest". So we (collective usage) look for peace of mind in expressions of power so as to take that periphery and narrow it, in the very least, to our targeted "needs". Yet, by some strange design, the world is incomprehensible in thought which makes it easier to forget that our Gap sweaters are the long days of some other individuals in a land that hot-topic media will never advertise.
Another interesting discord is the relative ease of which we are able to acquire products. If I see something that I have a primordial drive to buy, I do and it is done. Rarely am I looking to purchase something that would require a bank statement approval, so I consult nothing but the internal compass of my daily "need". Sometimes there is little deliberation. Other incidents merit full-blown rational conversations with the Platonic form of Consumer Me. You can see there are ulterior motives involved here. I recently witnessed this in my early obsolescence managing days. At my school, an organization was set to sell reusable coffee thermoses. Immediately I commented to a friend that I would like to be the new owner of one of those shiny mugs - I mean, I fully support the travel mug as a top player in the waste management of coffee shops. Only five seconds had past in my mentation before I envisioned my hands around the metal, smiles glued on my lips and a happier an environment because of it. As quick as the imagery came in, it left in my remembrance of a little project I am undertaking here. But I was not ignorant to what transpired. Even though the reasons why I wanted to buy this particular thermos were pure and edifying to a greater cause like mother earth [that, and my philanthropists twin was eager to make an appearance], I was still battling against the truth of that matter : I did not need this coffee cup. I have one already. So in and out went that purchasing urge, yet it left in it's place something I don't really like to admit. I really am that spoiled, youngest child "gets anything she wants because she's a girl" girl. My brothers were right.
If we are in a bubble, oblivious to the pre-purchasing days of our material gains, then I figure we are in a bubble with our post-purchasing days of waste and obsolescence. In the same song and dance, we rarely think about where our garbage goes. I cannot remember the last time I visited my local landfill but I am sure no one has done that for a first date. In Kansas City I learned that roughly 80% of what finds a home in the permanent landfills is actually recyclable, an abhorring response to inconvenience, I surmise. There is this expectation that if we put our shit in a receptacle, someone else we take it away. We can't be bothered with the afterthought of our indulgences. So just like that we have little connection to the consequence of over packaging and needless consumption. If I don't want it anymore, I rid myself of it.
This reminds me of a little story called The Story of Stuff. If you have twenty minutes, I would suggest an investment in this epiphany. Even if you sense political undertones that may not piece well with that which you are comfortable with, I challenge you to at least think critically of the larger picture. It may release some built-up tension in that bubble we comfortably keep about us, just in case.
I sense there is a connection between the disposable nature we are trained to live and the way we make, keep and terminate relationships in our lives. More on this to come.
In the meantime, it feels so tiring to be in charge of consuming but never approached to be part of the creation. I think my creating crafts are craving for camera-time this year.
For starters, we are far removed from the production of the things that pepper our living room buffet. Rarely do we know who stitched our pants, harvested our potatoes, bottled our soda, or installed our cable television. We are given no biographical sketch of the life of the item we are about to make our own, forgetting all together that it is even a dynamic example of living and dying, regardless if it considered an inanimate object or not. Even the most synthetic and unnatural of products have been handled with human hands, connected to real bodies that are less unlike our own than we give them credit. Although it feels like election time is all the time and we are just puppet's in some politicians imagination, we are casting ballots with fiber-like regularity. Ever dollar we spend is a check in some box, supporting an unseen crowd of profiteers and bulls in neckties. I must ease a bit at my jeering for I honestly do not believe we are a people of evil intentions and disrupted agendas. I do, though, think we are wounded wills wiggling and writhing against corruptible systems that have nothing in their periphery that resembles are "best interest". So we (collective usage) look for peace of mind in expressions of power so as to take that periphery and narrow it, in the very least, to our targeted "needs". Yet, by some strange design, the world is incomprehensible in thought which makes it easier to forget that our Gap sweaters are the long days of some other individuals in a land that hot-topic media will never advertise.
Another interesting discord is the relative ease of which we are able to acquire products. If I see something that I have a primordial drive to buy, I do and it is done. Rarely am I looking to purchase something that would require a bank statement approval, so I consult nothing but the internal compass of my daily "need". Sometimes there is little deliberation. Other incidents merit full-blown rational conversations with the Platonic form of Consumer Me. You can see there are ulterior motives involved here. I recently witnessed this in my early obsolescence managing days. At my school, an organization was set to sell reusable coffee thermoses. Immediately I commented to a friend that I would like to be the new owner of one of those shiny mugs - I mean, I fully support the travel mug as a top player in the waste management of coffee shops. Only five seconds had past in my mentation before I envisioned my hands around the metal, smiles glued on my lips and a happier an environment because of it. As quick as the imagery came in, it left in my remembrance of a little project I am undertaking here. But I was not ignorant to what transpired. Even though the reasons why I wanted to buy this particular thermos were pure and edifying to a greater cause like mother earth [that, and my philanthropists twin was eager to make an appearance], I was still battling against the truth of that matter : I did not need this coffee cup. I have one already. So in and out went that purchasing urge, yet it left in it's place something I don't really like to admit. I really am that spoiled, youngest child "gets anything she wants because she's a girl" girl. My brothers were right.
If we are in a bubble, oblivious to the pre-purchasing days of our material gains, then I figure we are in a bubble with our post-purchasing days of waste and obsolescence. In the same song and dance, we rarely think about where our garbage goes. I cannot remember the last time I visited my local landfill but I am sure no one has done that for a first date. In Kansas City I learned that roughly 80% of what finds a home in the permanent landfills is actually recyclable, an abhorring response to inconvenience, I surmise. There is this expectation that if we put our shit in a receptacle, someone else we take it away. We can't be bothered with the afterthought of our indulgences. So just like that we have little connection to the consequence of over packaging and needless consumption. If I don't want it anymore, I rid myself of it.
This reminds me of a little story called The Story of Stuff. If you have twenty minutes, I would suggest an investment in this epiphany. Even if you sense political undertones that may not piece well with that which you are comfortable with, I challenge you to at least think critically of the larger picture. It may release some built-up tension in that bubble we comfortably keep about us, just in case.
I sense there is a connection between the disposable nature we are trained to live and the way we make, keep and terminate relationships in our lives. More on this to come.
In the meantime, it feels so tiring to be in charge of consuming but never approached to be part of the creation. I think my creating crafts are craving for camera-time this year.
02 January 2008
if not new, then what?
There certainly are mystifying forces around our natural inclination to plan to procure. Maybe it is better addressed as a lack of planning that sets off in us an unconscionable consuming. For clarification purposes, I do not see consumption in and of itself as a crooked criminal. Although I pay my homage to the world's great ascetics, I think I am too enamored with my enamoring of the mystics to actually be one at this point in my life. That said, I subsist on products purchased in stores, just like the majority of autonomous beings. I make impenetrable forts with books and hope one day an IKEA will be of a distance know for its mileage brevity, so to assist in the perennial goal of "organization" in my life. I like the idea of antique stores and vintage clothing, but have not ever been able to make such causality. And who doesn't like to fantasize in Sharper Image, as electronic birds fly overhead your limp body being massaged by that $1200 vibrating barcalounger?
So here we go - the new year is now in day two and I am still in the nascent stage of recollecting the days of 2007 while I dream of those yet to be born for 2008. These moments are ripe with optimism, as everyone breathes a sigh of second chances...or third...or 589th. I personally like to scour my backlog of emails, messages and letters and read how ridiculously worried I was about some insignificant detail that naturally resolved itself 8.45 seconds after it began. Not as enjoyable is the annual review of monies and where they all went. The US dollar of Sharlene funneled mainly into the usual categories of 1) communication [phone + interent] 2) daily bread and shelter [Eden Alley + Korma Sutra + anything ethnic, anything vegetable + trail mix + meatless meats], 3) Project Move Body [yoga + yoga + yoga + pages of anticipated yet never accomplished triathlons, half-marathons, and marathons], and 4) Project Save Me From Medical School [Netflix + half.com books + occlusal guard + iTunes + live music + coffee shop's goods] and, the ultimate shudder, 5) murder money in the form of petrol. Oh yeah and there was that trip to India, California, Maryland, Kentucky, Wisconsin, and Minnesota [x3] plus the pre-owned iPod, post-examination recovery efforts [like earrings] and the million of other things I thought I needed and was duped to buy. So it leaves my wallet faster than it is coming in because the reality is it ISN'T coming in. My mouth is feed by the hands of those who also hold M203s. I am supported exclusively on financial aid and have no real sense of connection to that money. Yet in ten years those historical funds will be the hand that prevents me from feeding myself and others. What I buy today will control my tomorrow. So I am looking to uprise in a revolution against myself this year.
So, if not new, then what?
The great truth of 2008 is I can reduce and avoid that tyranny all together. That is step one. Don't buy when you don't need, which demands an overhaul on the definition of "need". I believe a disconcerting breakdown of communication falls between the lines and the words we try to use to express a personal understanding yet they are ineffective, imperfect vehicles of that understanding. We don't know the proper vernacular of our insides so we are left exchanging poor grammatical statements that leaves both us and everyone else utterly confused. "Want" is translated as "need", as "starving" is synonymous for "boy, I could go for a cheeseburger right now" and the last time I checked more people were in love with The Hills than they were with their own neighbors. You know? Real people. Tweaking our understanding of what is necessary for each one of us to pass the hours of the day in such ways that both liberates us and others from greed, despair and poverty, is a good start.
I went into Target New Year's Eve, sort of like a "green mile" moment. With driven intent I marched stately into the women's apparel and began searching for something, anything that I wanted and felt justified in purchasing. It was, after all, Fat Tuesday before Obsolescence Management '08 began. To my chagrin, I couldn't get anything. At first I felt that old, familiar rustling in my consciousness - "that would be nice to have...look at those shoes that woman is wearing...ooh, sale!". I saw it there in me, lazily using it's weakest temptations because instead of acting on those impulses, I began looking at the tags of on the clothing. Not one thing in my review of racks was produced in the US. Of course, I had to laugh at the "Make Peace, Not War" trendy tees that were made in Guatemala. So with little prodding, I exited and pursed my lips, somewhat in a disappointed fashion, for I was not binging before the great purge and I feared I would resent this in the future.
After the reduce option, we are presented with buying used. I have been an avid fan of this avenue for quite some time, as undergrad textbooks [and, even more so, medical school tomes] have outrageous price tags when their are shiny and new. So sites like Half and Ebay are positive options. Let's not forget Craigslist, Freecycle and other community-based exchange environments. There is also something to be said about knocking on your neighbor's door and asking to borrow an item you need that they already have. Relationship building and consumption downsizing all in one - an excellent opportunity to the mountain of plastic bags waiting to wait thousands of years to disintegrate.
The road to Obsolescence Management has been walked on by many a feet and the feats accomplished have been great. For me, this forum isn't about revolution a priori but rather revolution a posteriori. I am joining another peaceful form of resistance.
So here we go - the new year is now in day two and I am still in the nascent stage of recollecting the days of 2007 while I dream of those yet to be born for 2008. These moments are ripe with optimism, as everyone breathes a sigh of second chances...or third...or 589th. I personally like to scour my backlog of emails, messages and letters and read how ridiculously worried I was about some insignificant detail that naturally resolved itself 8.45 seconds after it began. Not as enjoyable is the annual review of monies and where they all went. The US dollar of Sharlene funneled mainly into the usual categories of 1) communication [phone + interent] 2) daily bread and shelter [Eden Alley + Korma Sutra + anything ethnic, anything vegetable + trail mix + meatless meats], 3) Project Move Body [yoga + yoga + yoga + pages of anticipated yet never accomplished triathlons, half-marathons, and marathons], and 4) Project Save Me From Medical School [Netflix + half.com books + occlusal guard + iTunes + live music + coffee shop's goods] and, the ultimate shudder, 5) murder money in the form of petrol. Oh yeah and there was that trip to India, California, Maryland, Kentucky, Wisconsin, and Minnesota [x3] plus the pre-owned iPod, post-examination recovery efforts [like earrings] and the million of other things I thought I needed and was duped to buy. So it leaves my wallet faster than it is coming in because the reality is it ISN'T coming in. My mouth is feed by the hands of those who also hold M203s. I am supported exclusively on financial aid and have no real sense of connection to that money. Yet in ten years those historical funds will be the hand that prevents me from feeding myself and others. What I buy today will control my tomorrow. So I am looking to uprise in a revolution against myself this year.
So, if not new, then what?
The great truth of 2008 is I can reduce and avoid that tyranny all together. That is step one. Don't buy when you don't need, which demands an overhaul on the definition of "need". I believe a disconcerting breakdown of communication falls between the lines and the words we try to use to express a personal understanding yet they are ineffective, imperfect vehicles of that understanding. We don't know the proper vernacular of our insides so we are left exchanging poor grammatical statements that leaves both us and everyone else utterly confused. "Want" is translated as "need", as "starving" is synonymous for "boy, I could go for a cheeseburger right now" and the last time I checked more people were in love with The Hills than they were with their own neighbors. You know? Real people. Tweaking our understanding of what is necessary for each one of us to pass the hours of the day in such ways that both liberates us and others from greed, despair and poverty, is a good start.
I went into Target New Year's Eve, sort of like a "green mile" moment. With driven intent I marched stately into the women's apparel and began searching for something, anything that I wanted and felt justified in purchasing. It was, after all, Fat Tuesday before Obsolescence Management '08 began. To my chagrin, I couldn't get anything. At first I felt that old, familiar rustling in my consciousness - "that would be nice to have...look at those shoes that woman is wearing...ooh, sale!". I saw it there in me, lazily using it's weakest temptations because instead of acting on those impulses, I began looking at the tags of on the clothing. Not one thing in my review of racks was produced in the US. Of course, I had to laugh at the "Make Peace, Not War" trendy tees that were made in Guatemala. So with little prodding, I exited and pursed my lips, somewhat in a disappointed fashion, for I was not binging before the great purge and I feared I would resent this in the future.
After the reduce option, we are presented with buying used. I have been an avid fan of this avenue for quite some time, as undergrad textbooks [and, even more so, medical school tomes] have outrageous price tags when their are shiny and new. So sites like Half and Ebay are positive options. Let's not forget Craigslist, Freecycle and other community-based exchange environments. There is also something to be said about knocking on your neighbor's door and asking to borrow an item you need that they already have. Relationship building and consumption downsizing all in one - an excellent opportunity to the mountain of plastic bags waiting to wait thousands of years to disintegrate.
The road to Obsolescence Management has been walked on by many a feet and the feats accomplished have been great. For me, this forum isn't about revolution a priori but rather revolution a posteriori. I am joining another peaceful form of resistance.
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