Dirty Hippie
Damn you Al Gore! Because of you and your stupid movie, I now own a re-usable canvas shopping bag from Trader Joes. It’s just big enough for the six organic groceries that I buy there most days on my way home from work because I’m too impatient to wait on anything longer than the “six items or less� line at that hateful home for wayward yuppies. What’s next? Patchouli stink? Ankle bells? A Patagonia vest perhaps? Will your film eventually drive me back to Birkenstocks? (Insert involuntary shudder here.) I’m even toying with going back off the red meat because of you, which sucks because red meat is delicious. It’s only been a couple of years since I started eating it anyways, but it tastes way less awes now that every bite carries with it the drip, drip, dripping sound of Greenland melting in my brain because the yummy cow I’m chewing on farted too much before she was done in by a mechanized sledge hammer. This is all so crazy too, because I’m really not such a big fan of nature. Ask anyone. I love the ocean, but prolonged time spent away from urban areas freaks me out and makes me think of all the horror movies set in remote rural places where “No one can hear you scream.� The real reason I’m getting all ecologically panic-stricken is that I LOVE CITIES, and the really good ones tend to live on coasts. If Greenland and/or Antarctica goes, all us city slickers will be fucked, and will have to move inland to some godforsaken dirt pile in the middle of the country where rising flood waters and pop culture will never find us. So c’mon fellow snotty urbanites, follow some of these guidelines with me (you don’t have to tell anyone you’ve gone soft), lest we ever have to set foot in Nebraska for un-ironic reasons.