Monday, November 2, 2009

In 2010, the new hotel gives out plastic water bottles

Since this year's considerations of Hallowe'en consisted of overhearing a youngster demand of his mother that she tell him why, "they don't just make pumpkins already hollow so you can cut the face out easier and fill with candy," all that was left for your host was the regret of not enjoying their company at the Bioneers conference last month in New Bedford. Out standing in her field
Actually, I couldn't make it for this year's shindig. C'mon, I've been accused of treehugging and resources pickiness since the Sixties, when it was important for small children to collect fag ends and shot glasses from the neighborhood polo grounds and share clever ways to save energy at home. One suggestion from a classmate: "Closin door to outside so the heet from the coal stove don't excape." (Today he's an assistant programming manager who calls his Adult Attention Deficit Disorder "Multi-tasking." Didn't make it to the rendezvous regatta last year, either.)
Nowadays, youngsters are more sophistic and would have no idea what to do if you gave them construction paper except to throw it into the recycle bin and design a quick viral video featuring armed photovoltaic frogs on their MacBook.
Of course, the rest of the folk are offended deeply at the outrageous affront to individual freedom that CFL lightbulbs represent. It doesn't take long for the feces-flinging to start when aspects of someone's NASCAR-and-flatulence lifestyle are called into question. I'm thinking of one hamhead's trope referring to "effeminate men" involved in the Bioneer sphere. I refer that individual to Van Jones. Or to any member of the Appalachian Mountain Club.
I have no concerns about my own masculinity or its relative inconsequence vis-a-vis global climate change.
The true battle, of course, was waged around the provisions board, while local restaurateurs grumble that Bioneers don't spend in their eateries and saloons. Of course, the Bioneers' handlers fed attendees "breakfast" and "lunch," leaving an evening meal -- if you were into that sort of depraved indulgence -- to be got in the Whaling City. Except...
Some customers loo at menus, and... well, look at what they peddle: corn-fed antibiotic-overdosed beef from Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations, trans fat-slathered pesticide-drenched off-season genetically-modified things grown on foreign factory farms that waste time and fossil fuels in shipping. Local agriculturalists and vintners languish in dry "Farmers' Markets" while wealthy local victuallers push local pols around to whine about a fraction-of-a-penny meals tax.Hey waiter! What's the name of this desert?
I wonder who's a member of the local Chamber of Commerce?

(This presentation includes photographs of Suzanne Pleshette.)

No comments: