Archive for September 29, 2008

Awkward White Twelve-Year-Olds and Your Old Magazines

September 29, 2008

In 6th grade, our teacher Mrs. Harter had us, as a class, write a rap — yes, a rap — about taking care of the earth. We called it the Pollution Rap, and we spent, I don’t know, like an hour a day for at least a week working on this thing. Some highlights that I remember include these golden nuggets:

“Oil spills and landfills give you chills

when you think of all the things it kills.”


“Air conditioners and aerosol sprays

are ruining the ozone and letting in the rays.”

and of course we had the requisite “Reduce it! Re-use it! Just don’t abuse it!” chorus, with Kenji Lunsford beatboxing in the background.

Mrs. Harter loved it and wanted to call up the local news station to put us on the news. Of course we were mortified at the idea, and hugely relieved when that never happened.

In any case, though, in the same way that DARE might have worked for me, because I never got into drugs, maybe this pollution rap had some sort of permanent effect on my priorities. I care about the Earth a lot, y’all! And I want to do whatever I can to help a sista out. Unfortunately I’ve been going about my business with not enough information. For example, the whole time I’ve lived in LA I’ve been wondering what to put in my recycling bin. Plastics coded #1 and 2 only? Aluminum foil? Stray cats? I’ve heard various information from various sources about what the city will recycle, and rather than finding out for sure, I just sort of guessed. But just now I remembered to look it up… after 5.5 years… and I found these helpful links, which I shall now share with you! It turns out we can recycle a lot more than I thought. Yay!

I’ve included links to recycling guides for LA, We-Ho, and Santa Monica. I found this by Googling “recycling los angeles,” so if you insert your city, I imagine you’ll find something similar.

Los Angeles
West Hollywood
Santa Monica – single family houses
Santa Monica – multiple family buildings

Happy recycling to you, and, um… just say no to drugs.


September 9, 2008

I was playing the guitar just now and noticing how my left pinky, when not in use, curls up into a gimpy little ball, and there’s nothing I can do about it. And it made me remember one time a year or so ago when I was playing the guitar for a boy I liked, and I’m all nervous and sweaty-palmed like, “This is it, I’d better be good so he’ll keep liking me and think I’m awesome,” and then I’m thinking, “Wow, this sounds really good; go me!” and I noticed that he was watching my hands and figured he was impressed by my fancy fingerwork and was probably falling in love with me because of it. But instead when I finished the song, all he said was, “Wow, you have really long fingers.” And suddenly instead of feeling proud I just felt embarrassed, because all along he’d just been sitting there mesmerized yet horrified by the car accident that was my comically long Jafar fingers: fingers that probably gave him nightmares at night; fingers that are attached to giant hands made more ridiculous by their juxtaposition with my teeny tiny wrists.

So I was thinking about that just now, and then I remembered a time long before, when I was in high school and visited a new friend’s house for the first time. The minute I stepped onto the big, sweeping porch (we’ll call it a “vast veranda” for effect), I was already feeling insecure, wishing he had never seen my little plain-jane house. He took me on a grand tour of the premises, ending at his room, which was pretty much a tower, with windows lining the walls on three full sides. It was stunning, but when he asked what I thought, all I could manage was a nonchalant “It’s nice,” like, “Whatever, I am sooooo not impressed; I eat houses like this in my cereal with sliced bananas as part of my complete breakfast.”

My point is, and I know we all know this; we’ve all heard it a thousand times, but for some reason it just now finally clicked with me: Insults stem from insecurity most of the time. Insecurity because the insulter is threatened by the insultee, because something the insultee has or is doing is better. It’s so much better that it’s scary to the insulter. So it must be pretty good. And that means that when someone is insulting me, it might mean I’m on the right track. It might be a sign that I should just keep going, keep doing what I’m doing, but more so.

I’m sure you’re like, “Um, Really, Marcy, you’re just now figuring this out? Duh, this is the most obvious fact in the universe.” Well, yeah, I don’t know, suddenly it just makes a lot of sense because I have practical things to apply it to. In any case, I finally get it, and I think this knowledge is going to help me a lot. And if it doesn’t, that’s cool, too; I’ll just find a genie and wish to become the most powerful sorcerer in the world! Mwahahahaha!