earthgirl

by Jennifer Cowan

  “Try blogging, streaming, Facebooking or checking MySpace,” I corrected as I peeked inside the bag and pulled out the crunchy new book – The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Global Warming.

  “Since you’re getting into the earth-mother-nature-girl thing, I picked it up for you,” he smiled proudly. Like I might have decided to be a dentist like him or could suddenly speak a dozen languages fluently including Elvish.

  I thumbed through it, then gave him my most evil gaze.

  “I’m not an idiot,” I huffed and threw the book at him. I cringed as it bounced off Chichi, my stuffed lion, and landed on the duvet half open, its cover now crumpled.

  “No one said you were,” he answered, looking very startled and ironing the big fold in the cover with his palm. “It’s just a book. It’s just what they call it, that’s all.”

  “Then why do you and Mom keep making fun of me?” I asked, completely pissed off he’d proven my theory that parents had nothing better to do than talk about you behind your back and worse, mock you! And more than that also had an annoying knack for interrupting you when you were dealing with the profound implications of contacting the guy you were madly crushing.

  “I thought you might like it, that’s all,” he said, sounding genuinely hurt. “I can take it back.”

  “No,” I said, because the truth was it actually looked like it could be informative, even if it had such a stupid title. “Thanks for getting it, but next time you get me a book you should support the small independent stores. Ruby from work says we have to or they’ll disappear.”

  “Okay,” he said giving my hair a ruffle like I was a dog or a baby. “Whatever you say, my little activist.”

  And with that he ducked out of my room.

  Parents are so utterly lame.

  six_

  “See how this painting has a blue sky background and this one is gray and hazy?” Vray said, pointing to a dark oil painting of some decrepit old buildings and bridges. “That one dates before the Industrial Revolution. That’s why the sky is bright. This one was painted after, when there was smog in the air all the time.”

  And here I’d been thinking I’d be lucky if our inaugural face-to-face was at some indie-coffee-shop-type venue. Instead we were wandering through the Art Gallery of Ontario talking about what art revealed about our world. Could there be a more perfect way to expand my burgeoning social consciousness, my artistic sensibilities and world view?

  “Come on, that can’t be true,” I said, thinking this was all too strange to be possible. That we were discussing politics, the environment and history and it was almost sexy. Plus the fact that even over a hundred years ago, people were apparently as indifferent to pollution as they were now. No wonder things were such a stinky mess.

  “We’re talking about the 1850s. Photography had been invented, but was in its early stages and pretty experimental and expensive, so paintings were the main way people documented the world.”

  “But why was there so much pollution? I thought cars were one of the biggest problems,” I said, marveling at how clever and informed and insightful Vray was for being only seventeen. And marveling even more at how I could be standing in front of these significant documents of history while the world’s history of stupidity and destruction repeated itself.

  “They’re an issue, but back then people burned coal, one of the dirtiest forms of energy, for almost everything. Manufacturing, heating, cooking. And it made everything gray. Not that we learned anything, since we still burn tons of it every day, instead of demanding cleaner energy.”

  We wandered past more ominous paintings of pudgy, pink-faced people in dark, gloomy settings.

  “Smog is just a combination of smoke and fog. When the smoke rose into the atmosphere and met with the fog that’s so common in Britain, it got stuck there, so you ended up with smog.”

  “How do you know all this?” I asked, amazed that he obviously read so much stuff outside of school. And especially that he cared enough to get informed. So much for grown-ups whimpering about teen indifference. Vray was a living, breathing example of a social-conscious keener.

  “I used to watch Jeopardy a lot.” He smiled that seriously swoon-inducing smile.

  “Seriously,” I asked, giving his biceps (his apparently very muscular biceps!) a little squeeze. I realized with a pleasant shudder that it was the first time I’d actually touched him. Wow. You could fall in love in an art gallery, I thought, wondering if it might be happening right now.

  “Books, talking to people. My mom and dad teach at U of T, and their blowhard friends always argue and debate this and that. Mostly useless academic stuff and I want to do more than just talk about ideas.”

  “It’s like our parents and their generation made a complete mess of everything and it’s up to us to fix it.”

  “It’s debatable how much can be fixed,” Vray said flatly. “So much stuff is beyond the point of no return. The only thing we can do is maybe slow down the inevitable decline of civilization and send out some pretty loud warnings about the consequences.”

  “That’s awful,” I said, wondering if we really were on our way to the end of the earth in a speeding car with no brakes (and who exactly was driving). “If we can’t make a difference, what’s the point of your environmental action-hero thing? Or the band? Or anything, for that matter?”

  “It’s seriously cute how worked up you get about all this,” Vray said as he looked at me.

  “I’m not trying to be cute,” I said, even though I was exquisitely thrilled that he thought I was. “I’m just trying to do something and now you’re telling me there’s no point. You do realize the doomsday stuff is kind of a downer?”

  As the words left my mouth, I seriously hoped I didn’t sound like Carmen and Ella, since that was a million miles from what I intended. I was just baffled he could be so informed and so defeatist in the same breath.

  “Everything we do to acknowledge the mess and strain on the planet helps. It sets an example,” he explained, wrapping his fabulous strong arm around my shoulder and pulling me in for a demi-hug as we walked through the gallery. “But it doesn’t change the cycle of humanity, which obviously points to our eventual extinction. It happened before. It’ll happen again. Trick is to be the best you can be and keep the world as pristine as you can while you’re here.”

  His arm had dropped from its contact with my body, but I could still feel the warmth where he’d touched me. I’d probably have melted then and there if we hadn’t paused in front of a blue and white iceberg painting by Lawren Harris, my favorite Group of Seven artist. Even though his style was globby and cartoonish, you could almost feel the cool breeze coming off the barren northern landscape. The now-disappearing North of frozen glaciers, icebergs, ice floes and apparently not-so-permanent permafrost.

  The moment was so epic, so profound, I was frantic to say something to mark it. Something significant and meaningful and decidedly uncute.

  Then I remembered a little blurb I’d found flipping through the Idiot’s Guide (which actually turned out to be pretty informative and interesting. Thanks, Daddy!).

  “In thirty years Glacier National Park won’t have any more glaciers,” I said as we stared intensely at the painting of snow and ice.

  “Then we don’t have a lot of time, do we,” he said, taking my hand (my happily for once unclammy hand) and leading me through the maze of exquisite paintings.

  I wasn’t sure if he meant us or the world. Or maybe they were the same thing.

  e a r t h g i r l

  space invaders

  [ Oct. 14th | 11:53pm ]

  [ mood | besotted, bewitched and bewildered ]

  [ music | beth orton — galaxy of emptiness ]

  Sacred spaces. It seems like a simple concept, except every single day the corrupt corporate conglomorization of the world eeks and sneaks a bit more territory.

  Take the Nevada desert, which the KFC people just did!! They put a gianormous mosaic of Colonel Freak
ing Saunders there which can be seen from outer space!

  The aliens are going to think we all have white goaties and Buddy Holly glasses. It’s so, so, so incredibly sad.

  link read 7 | post

  googleearth

  onederful 10-15 17:04

  who is buddy holly?

  Vague-a-bond 10-15 17:23

  some dead musician guy who had the same glasses as Uncle KFC.

  altalake 10-16 1:12

  Clever tactic — colonel(izing) outer space via the UFO capital(ists) of the world. Expanding market share everywhere.

  My occasionally adorable, often annoying little sister has been recruited by the enemy. Like many thousands of other easily impressed and impressionable girls before her and sadly likely to follow, the POWERS THAT BE have co-opted her mind in the name of uberconsumerism.

  Yes, Clare was now a card-carrying, log-in accessing member of the Girls Intelligence Agency.

  It’s enough to make me want to scream. I tried to intervene. But sadly, as with my equally malleable, consumer-corroborating and completely consumed dearest pals, it was to little avail. Clare now gleefully reports to THEM, the corporate behemoths (big mouths) with the satisfied obliviousness of a cult member. All because they have created this groovy website, call her a secret agent and promise her free stuff for a few strategic clicks.

  This extremely clever subterfuge is designed to make her believe she’s actually an agent of change, influencing corporate decision making and consequently creating better things for everyone everywhere. Provided your definition of “everyone” is limited to middle-class girls in the Western world. Like they needed to do more to get everyone on the planet buying and wanting and consuming more!

  Yes, being part of GIA (very glam sounding) means making the world a better place for you and me and girls just like us.

  “Don’t you get it? They’re making you think you’re part of some special club and your opinion actually matters,” I explained when she logged into the website to show me how “kewl” it was.

  “Yeah, so?” She didn’t even look at me as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

  “So they’re exploiting you,” I said as I realized how incredibly brilliant and subversive this new under-the-radar advertising actually was. And how scary.

  “No, they give me free stuff,” she answered, expertly clicking the mouse onto the sleepover kit section.

  “They trade it for your opinions so they can figure out what else they can sell you.”

  “So?”

  “So? If you’re a guinea pig and they’re sucking your brain out, it’s not exactly free.”

  “You really need to relax, Sabine. Try to get some groping action or something,” she scoffed, turning toward me long enough to roll her eyes. “You’re like some eco-crazy crazy person.”

  “No, I’m more like the only sane person I know,” I sighed.

  I wanted to be a good influence. I was trying to lead by example. But how could I possibly compete with free stuff?

  Apparently being the earthgirl, and actually making a difference in my world, was going to require greater ingenuity on my part. And that was something I definitely know cannot be bought.

  Anywhere. For any price.

  e a r t h g i r l

  [ Oct. 20th | 9:58pm ]

  [ mood | confused ]

  [ music | I was a daughter I Basia Bulat ]

  today i beg and implore you to just say no to fast food. and not merely cuz of conglomeration + healthy eating concerns. for the garbage! gazillions of Styrofoam clamshells for 5 minutes of transport lying in our ocean-sized landfills for decades.

  but since i’m not so naive to think the world will stop eating fast food or taking out takeout, i came up with a most brilliant eco-innovation to solve this quandary. edible packaging! and then, to my pleasure, i discovered that it sort of exists. some fabo folks are using corn and potatoes and starch to make takeaway boxes that biodegrade and won’t be doomed to the ground for all eternity.

  pretty clever! and kind. so if you must takeaway, then demand more from the businesses you patronize!

  theearthgirl@rocketmail.com

  link read 5 | post

  www.naturopack.org

  www.nat-ur.com

  www.earthshell.com

  altalake 10-20 21:21

  I always carry my spork and Swiss army knife and even have a plastic container in my pack. Waste not, want not.

  Vague-a-bond 10-21 00:22

  Me, I like slow food and raw food and always, always, always, local food.

  seven_

  Vray was sitting with his bandmate buddy Finn in the window seat of the midtown fair-trade all-organic coffee shop he’d suggested as our rendezvous point. I tried not to be too disappointed that he wasn’t alone. Maybe I’d misinterpreted his text message and wished it into a date-date when it was just a casual hanging-out kind of thing.

  From the sidewalk it looked like they were in the midst of an intense life-and-death discussion. I was almost reluctant to interrupt for fear I might derail what was certain to be an important train of profound thoughts.

  I was considering the best mode of approach when Vray spotted me and waved me over. His serious expression suddenly shifted to the seductive smile, saving me from myself again, and not a second too soon.

  “They’re hypocrites of the highest order. It’s beyond disgusting and obviously criminal,” Finn ranted as I approached.

  “Sounds intense,” I offered, because his breathless indictment of whomever he was breathlessly indicting sounded so passionate and convincing. I didn’t even know the topic, but already I was on side.

  “Bastards are going to rip up the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to drill for oil,” Finn sighed as he dragged a stool over to let me scooch in between them. So thoughtful and polite, considering his mind was elsewhere on something obviously big and calamitous.

  “They have these rules to protect places and things, but they mean shit when money comes into the picture. It’s unbelievable. The American asshole government gives its stamp of approval and everyone nods and agrees it’s a good idea. Then they trot out the scientists they pay off to dispute the real science,” Vray practically spat, the vein in his temple pulsing. “A whole species of caribou is threatened and instead of trying to develop clean renewable energy, it’s Hey let’s drill for oil over here in case we can’t have any more from the Mid East and we can’t admit that illegal immoral war we launched isn’t working out so well. Damn all the animals and the landscape.”

  “But if it’s a National Wildlife Refuge, doesn’t that mean it’s protected?” I asked, feeling confused and suddenly angry that I had no idea this was happening on top of all the other awful things going on in the world. When you took a second to think about it, all the everythings we didn’t know were pretty frightening.

  “Protected until big money pays off a few strategic powerbrokers,” Vray answered with a sigh. “It’s like why piss off the car makers and big oil? As if they’re more important than creatures that were here way before us.” He looked exhausted and a bit defeated. Not unlike the way he looked after his benefit concert bit the biscuit.

  “So what do you do? I mean, what do we do?” I asked, feeling small and powerless. The same way the poor soon-to-be-destroyed Arctic caribou would be feeling, if they knew what was going on. “Maybe you could have another concert outside somewhere to attract a bigger crowd.”

  “Yeah,” Vray nodded. “We’re thinking about a few bigger more intense things. The shows are good, but they don’t get people riled up the way they should. We’re still figuring it out.”

  “Let me know what I can do. I’ll definitely help out,” I said, even though I had no idea what I was offering. It’s just that seeing him so emotional and committed made me feel like it was the least I could do. After all, I lived on this planet, too, and I hoped it would be around for many more years. For me and all the other people inhabiting it and the caribou (cariboos?), too.
>
  “You’re awesome, Sabine Solomon. Like I told Finn, I could tell the minute I saw you there was something real special going on,” Vray said as he leaned forward and kissed me deftly and casually full on the mouth.

  FULL ON THE MOUTH!!!

  “Welcome aboard,” Finn agreed, shaking my hand with a hip-hop handshake and acting like nothing monumentous had just happened.

  To me! With his friend Vray! Right in front of his own nose! Like something called a KISS! By this point I was too stunned to actually hear what they said to one another.

  It was fluky, fabulous moments like this that kind of made me wish I had an audience or a fan club, or that I could text with my mind to let Carmen and Ella in on what had just transpired. They didn’t have a clue what an incredible integrity-filled passionate guy Vray was. And that said amazing, valiant creature was really and truly interested in my ideas and contributions and, it now seemed, my company and my mind and my bod, too!

  “It’s made with rice milk. Better for you and the planet,” Vray said as a steaming bowl of café au lait magically appeared on the beaten-up and graffiti-ed table in front of me.

  I nodded and smiled. I was so lost in the extreme fabulosity of that surprise kiss that I didn’t even remember him asking what I’d wanted. Or even noticing that Finn seemed to be gathering up his stuff.

  “Gotta book,” Finn said as he stood and shrugged on his heavy canvas jacket. “Later, bro. You, too, Sabine.”

  “Bye,” I sighed and half waved as he headed out the door and the bell above it chirped sweetly.

  “So was work okay?” Vray asked.