It was downright random and ridiculous at times. Sure they cussed and swore for a minute when Vray told them about being run off the road, but they didn’t seem remotely interested in an intelligent discussion about how we could protest or possibly even retaliate despite my best efforts.
“We should join the Cycling Committee to demand more bike lanes,” I suggested.
“Get a load of Sabine,” Eric said. “Five hits on her YouTube bitchslap and she’s the authority on activism.”
“I never said that,” I answered, wondering why my boyfriend wasn’t defending me and hoping it was just him being tired and injured. “I just don’t think we can assume things will happen without making some noise.”
“Slashing tires is more effective,” Vray said, mussing up my hair with his good arm. “And I happened to enjoy the bitchslap.”
“I’m serious,” I continued, wondering if that was his version of standing up for me. “They have those Critical Mass rides once a month to promote bikes. You know, hordes of people on bikes slowing down traffic, forcing the cars to make room for us. To notice and acknowledge our rights.”
“If you were really serious, you’d carry a knife,” Eric said. “Swiss Army does the trick, and it has a nifty corkscrew.”
“Plain old nails work, too,” Finn laughed. “Cause a nice slow debilitating leak that doesn’t always get noticed right away.”
I let out a loud sigh and sank back into the couch. It was exhausting trying to make my point. Plus I was very, very sleepy. And didn’t want to risk exhaustion making me sick. Not with the holidays stretched out in front of me. And the possibility of Vray stretched out beside me to boot!
So, after a long, luxuriating smooch (set to the sound-track of Finn’s whoops and Eric’s groans), I set off to my boring empty house.
e a r t h g i r l
[ Dec. 22nd | 07:21pm ]
[ mood | exhausted/angry/frustrated ]
[ music | battleflag — lo fidelity allstars + dead machines ]
The personal is definitely, positively the political! And the political is sometimes very, very personal. Especially when your innocent, lovely, beloved boyfriend gets run down by a crazed S-U-X!!!
The result? His broken collarbone and my broken heart. Fortunately, our spirits are intact. But just barely.
Which leads me to the most excellent anarchist artists known as Action Terroriste Socialement Acceptable — which translates roughly to activist artists making socially acceptable commentaries, but in French is more poetic bien sur (of course).
Attack #9: Oil Kills is a burned out, wrecked and wretched SUV put in public spaces to comment on stupidhead love affairs with stupidhead truckcars.
Eerie. Like they were bombed. Or mangled. And torched. Destroyed in response to their destructiveness. I so totally get their art. It almost makes me feel queasy. In a good uneasy, queasy way!
link read 5 | post
www.atsa.qc.ca
altalake 12-22 23:58
So the other day – inspired by you earthgirl – I googled Hummer and these stellar rogue culturejammers pop up. Much hilarity ensues especially from the stupid ass defenses of the fat-arsed people who drive them and can never find a big enuf spot to park them. Like we care? www.fuh2.com
lacklusterlulu 12-23 09:40
according to the WTO, there are over one billion overweight people in the world. 30% of americans are considered too fat. and each extra pound in cars uses up more than 39 MILLION extra gallons of gas. Junk in the Trunk indeed.
I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP!
earthbound01 12.23 14:31
Isnt Hummer a word for Hard-on? Or is that supposed to be the point? Limp dicks drive ‘em cuz its the best they can do? Talk about auto-erotica!
MachFhive 12-20 0:03
U skinny leaf eating freeks are jealous u don’t have muslces and money. admit it. SUCKAHS.
fifteen_
Whoever thought being with the band was a nonstop thrill-filled glamfest has obviously never been a roadie. Even for one piddly trip between car and venue, and by my count it was seventeen grueling trips each way for this, that and whatever. And with the other guys acting all rockstar, it felt like I was the one doing most of the grunting and hauling.
By the end of the evening, my arms and back seemed almost as battered and bruised as Vray’s poor collarbone. With him barely able to carry electrical cables, I volunteered to help set up and tear down the Xmas eve gig. It’s one thing to say you’re a supportive girlfriend. You have to walk the talk sometimes, even if it includes heavy gear.
Even though it was an opening slot on a night when most normal people were busy, snagging the show was apparently a major coup. The venue was a grungy metal bar on Queen West called the Bovine Sex Club. And as I’d feared, pretty sucky over all. Though not as empty as you might expect on a night like that.
There were lots more people than at the Earth Action League gig by a long shot, though they seemed equally disinterested in the band or the music or the message. Funny that none of the guys even noticed. As I helped Finn shlep the heavy amp toward his sister’s jeep, he kept going off about how tight they were. Eric was in a pretty good mood, too, but still mean and snarky to me. Sorta like the older brother I’d never had and never wanted.
“You better not get us busted for being underage,” he kept warning me, so I’d stay away from the bar that stretched the length of the joint. “We lied our asses off to get this show and some little princess isn’t going to blow it for us.”
“Relax,” Vray said, coming to my defense for once. “Sabine’s tuned in. Besides, she looks older than we do.”
The mature, sophisticated me was totally knocked out by his supportive comment, even if the sixteen-year-old me wanted to stick out my tongue at Eric. He was so smug and annoying. I wasn’t really sure why someone as fab as Vray was even friends with him. Obviously I was missing or ignoring something deeper and more significant.
Finn as always was sweet and polite. And Peter the drummer and tallest, skinniest guy I’d ever set eyes on was decent and didn’t seem to have a beef with me. I also exchanged a brief nod with Ashok who was filling in for Vray on guitar and seemed nervous about not knowing all the songs. Neither said much, but then it was pretty loud most of the time anyway.
At the end of the gig we had to clear the stage quickly for the next band. I would have been just as happy to stay and hear them, but Eric was in a big hurry to herd us out. We were so stuffed into the jeep with gear that I couldn’t see out the fogged-up windows. So I was a bit surprised when Finn pulled up in front of my house to drop me off (a) because he remembered where it was from the long-ago fridge fiasco and (b) because I hadn’t asked to be let off there.
I peeled myself out of the squishy backseat and Vray walked me to the door.
“Don’t you want to come in?” I asked, hoping that all along he’d planned to stay with me here in my house in my very own bedroom and just forgot to mention it.
“Nah, I’m wrecked. I’m gonna crash at home, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaned in and gave me a speedy kiss. “Thanks a ton for helping and putting up with the guys. You’re awesome.”
And then he was gone, leaving only a brief memory of his warm mouth on mine and a little puff of frost-filled air.
•••
“This is leek and mushroom loaf. That’s squash and teriyaki grilled tempeh,” Ruby explained, waving her hand over the table of vegified wonders that looked and smelled absolutely incredible. “I flirted with doing a tofurkey, but then remembered you mock meat objectors.”
“Meat’s already a mockery,” Vray quipped, his uninjured hand reaching for a steaming casserole dish.
“What’s wrong with tofurkey?” I asked as he offered me a scoop of steaming something yum. “Besides the goofy name?”
“If you make the effort to be vegetarian, you shouldn’t eat stuff trying to pass itself off as animal carcasses.”
It was Boxing Day afternoon and we were in the
most magical place I’d ever been. A little wooden cottage on Algonquin Island, the sparsely populated public parkland across the harbor from downtown Toronto. Ruby and her girlfriend Hayley were housesitting for friends lucky enough to live in this hippy-esque community of two hundred or so houses.
I knew it existed, a short walk from the amusement park on the adjacent Centre Island, but I’d never bothered to check it out before. Too busy munching candyfloss or riding the bumpercars, I guess. Silly, silly me. It was a little piece of paradise a hop, skip, subway and boat ride from home.
To get there, Vray and I took the icebreaker ferry, which ran all year. Even though it was snowing, blowing and seriously freezing, we huddled outside at the bow and watched the heavy metal boat break through the ice-filled channel between the city and the island across the bay.
Small and large chunks of cloud-colored ice were pushed aside from the open-water pathway. It made clinking and crackling and pinging noises like a spring being sprung as we passed through, and I started to wonder what it would be like to be in a frozen world like the Arctic or Antarctica. To be surrounded by sparkling blue ice and pristine snow and silence and whales and polar bears or penguins. Before global warming melts them into memories.
I felt incredibly special and incredibly lucky. There’s no way I’d ever have experienced anything like this if I was still the same old boring Sabine Solomon I’d been back in September. A lifetime ago. It had only been a few months and yet I’d met the most extraordinary people and learned the most incredible things.
Ruby and Hayley had invited Vray and me and their friends Tibor, Cassie and Steve, who all looked interesting and arty and socially conscious and at least in their early twenties. I was definitely the baby, but no one seemed to notice. Completely opposite to hanging out with the smug boys. It was totally awesome. An honor, even.
And this feast! Whoever thought vegetables were boring never had a meal cooked by Ruby. I could eat this stuff for the rest of my life.
And it was so much more than that. The conversation was fast and furious, yet intense and meaningful. Exclusive and yet inclusive and endlessly interesting.
“He’s chronicling the neo-industrial revolution sweeping the earth,” Hayley gushed about the photos of Edward Burtynsky, a world-renowned artist who lived in Toronto. “Essential, in their scale and message.”
Apparently, his forte was mega-sized photos of open-pit mines and factories and construction sites. There was even a movie about his photos of China. Tibor had spent a few months working at a photo lab that processed his work.
“Companies give him access to document the way they’re raping and pillaging the earth,” he explained. “Then spend bags of money to put the art in their corporate collections.”
“Is that bad?” I asked. “I mean, they’re supporting the artist, right? And besides, isn’t old-style photography a kind of contradiction considering all the chemicals used to process it?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, making me feel both pride and relief that I actually knew something. “Very astute and something I struggled with when I worked there.”
“Take a beautiful picture of a lake, then pour the developer and fix down the drain and it ends up in that pristine lake,” Ruby interjected. “That’s why I draw and paint, but sadly a lot of art is incredibly toxic. Then again, something has to be worth the risk.”
“And rewards,” Tibor added with a devilish grin. “You live for the adulation and contempt as much as me. You’re too precious to admit it.”
“Ignore him. He equates art with immortality,” Cassie smiled, waving her long, slender hand which had silver and chunky stone rings on every finger. “Considering his ego, it’s a miracle we let him hang out with us at all.”
“Ah, but someone has to throw the wrench in the machine, even if it’s a progressive machine,” Tibor growled, giving her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
“Actually, Sabine threw that wrench,” Vray said.
“I throw a mean caber,” Steve added. “But I’m Scottish.”
“What’s a caber?” I asked, delighted to be in the thick of such a dynamic conversation, not to mention making a contribution.
“It’s like a big hydro pole,” Hayley said. “And Stevie’s never thrown more than a good party or the odd hissy fit as long as we’ve known him.”
“But I do look great in a kilt,” Steve boasted.
“I for one need more wine,” Tibor sighed, reaching across the table and filling his glass.
Everyone’s glasses except mine were filled as he nodded and waved the bottle toward me.
I hedged. I wasn’t very experienced with alcohol and didn’t want to barf or embarrass Vray.
“It’s okay,” Ruby assured me. “We won’t let you get drunk.”
“And not cause you’re underage,” Cassie chimed in. “Pissed people aren’t very interesting.”
“Touché,” Tibor said a bit loudly before taking a sip and putting his glass back down on the table.
I wondered if maybe he was going to turn into the drunk and uninteresting guest. There was no way I’d let it be me.
“Okay, where were we?” Steve asked.
“The good and bad of making art,” Cassie said.
“There’s good and bad in everything. Art, life, progress, you name it,” Ruby added. “It’s all a matter of perspective and action.”
“Says the Buddhist Pollyanna,” Steve teased.
“If you decide things are bad, they’re going to be bad, so you might as well decide they’re good and do something to make them better,” Hayley answered.
“Too late,” Vray said. “It’s way past the best-before date.”
“Totally. We’re at the nadir of civilization,” Hayley explained, mopping her plate clean with a piece of pita. “Look around. If we’re not killing each other, we’re killing the planet or it’s killing us to retaliate. Something’s gotta give.”
“Are you saying the world’s ending?” I asked, even though it seemed obvious that’s exactly what she was saying. Still, I was kind of confused because even as she ranted, she smiled and laughed and stuffed her face and sipped wine like everything was totally fine.
“Explain the unbelievable disparity between rich and poor, haves and have nots?” Ruby said.
“The wanton destruction of forests, waterways, the civil wars, droughts, crazy weather, global pandemics,” Hayley continued, like they were sharing the same brain.
“People are selfish and greedy. Even if they pretend they’re not. It’s definitely the beginning of the end,” Vray agreed, as he motioned for the pan of apple and pear crumble.
“It makes me nutso how selfish people are,” Steve said. “As if they deserve whatever they want whenever they want it and, um, hasn’t anyone ever heard of holding a door for someone else?”
“Blabbing on cellphones asleep at the wheel,” Vray said as he shoveled down another mouthful of food. From the way he was eating you’d think he’d never seen food before, but then I’ve heard when the body is repairing itself nutrition is very important.
“I totally agree!” Hayley blurted out. “People walk around in little bubbles and tune out everything around them. It’s sick.”
“I can’t even remember what people did before mobiles or MP3 players isolated them from everyone,” Steve said softly.
“Pondered the universe, smelled the flowers, lived life,” Ruby answered, turning to me. “Hey, how come you’ve never written about cellphones or iPods in your blog?”
“Because she’s got them,” Vray intercepted.
“Only for emergencies,” I said.
“Right, an iPod emergency,” Vray laughed.
“I got it way before I learned all this,” I said, feeling suddenly guilty for all the things I had when other people had so much less. “And I barely use my phone any more except if it’s crucial.” Since Vray was essentially anti-cellular and there was no need to text Carmen or Ella, I hadn’t used it in months. And I hadn’t really m
issed it, either.
“Have you noticed there are barely any pay phones any more? Side effect of the cellular obsession. Not great for public safety or poor people,” Steve added.
“They need to be maintained and get vandalized,” Tibor said. “The telcos want to hook you on convenience and would rather pour money into cell matrixes that transmit weird frequencies and give us all brain cancer.”
“You should write about all this,” Ruby said encouragingly. “The earthgirl disses antisocial so-called conveniences. It’s a great thread.”
“So you’re the infamous earthgirl!” Cassie suddenly gushed.
My mouth was full of tempeh, so I smiled madly and nodded like a bobblehead.
“Ruby sent me the link to your page ages ago,” Cassie went on as I quickly swallowed my food. “No wonder you look familiar. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection right away.”
“You’ve read it? Did you like it?” I asked excitedly, immediately regretting it in case she didn’t.
“Like it? I post all the time. I’m Vague-a-bond!” At this point we both jumped up from the table and were spontaneously hugging while the others whooped and cheered.
“I can’t believe you’re only sixteen. You’re so wise and insightful,” Cassie said, looking me deep in the eyes. “Definitely an old soul.”
“Told you she was awesome,” Ruby gushed, like she’d discovered me in a basket on her porch. It was odd to be claimed like that, but also flattering considering the caliber of the crowd.
“Sick stuff on SUVs,” Vray said.
“You said blogs were self-indulgent time wasters,” I responded, absolutely thrilled he’d been checking out my pages.
“I was curious what you were ranting about,” he shrugged.
“Try if you ranted about him,” Ruby teased.
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