I have been staring at this screen for a long while now, waiting for inspiration to strike. I was tempted just to post another one of my riveting You Tube home movies and call it a day; lucky for you I didn't.
Instead, I will share with you an e-mail exchange I had with a friend who is embarking on a new career to save the planet. It began innocently enough with his announcement that he was about to purchase a Prius. But then he said I couldn't sit in it because my ass (he said that; he said "ass") was not swathed in organic cotton produced within a 50 mile radius. This struck me as unnecessarily aggressive of him, so I responded:
I draw the line on wearing hemp from Belmont. I much prefer my toxic denim to be sewn by a 12-year-old residing in an underdeveloped nation. Muwahahahahahahahaha!
And then he said:
Is Muwahahahahaha the manager of the sweatshop in the underdeveloped nation? At least you know her name. That's a start.
Again with the smart-ishness. So I said:
Silly man. Muwahahahahaha is the sound my blood diamond makes when it scrapes across the aluminum cans I never bother to recycle.
And then he said...well, I don't know what he said. Because it's been two days and I haven't heard from him again.