I've been reading a lot of gardening/small farm blogs lately to hopefully help fill in some gaps in my knowledge as we get closer and closer to the spring growing season. One of the blogs I've been reading, Garden Punks, turned me on to this great little short film called The Story of Stuff. It made me feel terrible. Not the most glowing of reviews for such a thing but I encourage you to watch it (download free from their website or check it out on Google video) because it really shines a light on what goes into all of those iPods and laptops and everything else that we buy.
It made me feel especially bad about working at a job that sells the very same sort of inexpensive electronic gadgetry with a built-in expiration date discussed in the documentary. It made me want to recommit myself to trying to not buy stuff as much as possible and to generally avoid stores that aren't second hand shops.
I mean I know this will be a challenge. Overcoming my own desires will be the most difficult obstacle. Surpassing my need for instant gratification and my tendency to connect new ideas and projects with a shopping list will be a real challenge. I'm about to start gardening again and I know that I will have to strain to rein in my tendency to buy a bunch of crap and tools that I might need to aid in my efforts (damn it, I really wanted that soil block maker). The truth is that we as a culture are raised to have this compulsion (I guess it is sort of what our entire economy is fundamentally based on) and it is going to be no easy thing to get over. In the past, one might have turned to a neighbor or a friend to borrow and share things like tools, baby, but I don't feel like I have such a resource. Certainly its not present enough to trump "buy it" on my general list of options. What a gargantuan task it seems like to undertake to reduce my consumption. What an even greater task it would be to convince the mass of people, who are unconcerned with the effects of their consumption, to stop buying so much junk. I just have to remember to be thoughtful and do what I can every day and not become driven to apathy by guilt because once in a while I do buy something that isn't completely sustainable.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
file under futurism
So as my termination date for my previous job approaches I am trying to get more into / out of my soon-to-be-primary employment running various online outlets for a local entrepreneur who sells "home automation" equipment on the side. I've been doing this work from home until recently my employer decided to open a storefront and office and so now I am commuting like a sucker to the next DFW tendril-stop to work among shelves full of these gadgets. For the first time ever today though I actually handled some and brought them home to try out. I could not believe how excited I got about some wireless light switches and a couple of other gimmicks. I now fully understand why my employer is doing well enough to open a store - these gadgets are terribly amusing. Mind you, I feel fairly sure that I have a tendency toward these kinds of toys as they take their place in our bedroom among the remote-controlled ceiling fan and the Roomba robot vacuum.
For me these sorts of devices straddle the line between truly useful and pretty silly. I generally tend to be against so-called "time-saving devices" but I think what I like about stuff like the Roomba and these remote controlled lights is how it hearkens back to what the future looked like half a century ago. I mean sure we are all now suffering like mad at the havoc wreaked by the futuristic science of that era - post WWII industrial science was hard at work cramming plastics and synthetics and all manner of would-be pollutants down our (grand)parents' throats - but there is also something charming about the optimism of that predicted future.
For me these sorts of devices straddle the line between truly useful and pretty silly. I generally tend to be against so-called "time-saving devices" but I think what I like about stuff like the Roomba and these remote controlled lights is how it hearkens back to what the future looked like half a century ago. I mean sure we are all now suffering like mad at the havoc wreaked by the futuristic science of that era - post WWII industrial science was hard at work cramming plastics and synthetics and all manner of would-be pollutants down our (grand)parents' throats - but there is also something charming about the optimism of that predicted future.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Space is the place
Growing up, our family home seemed like a pack-rat death trap akin to those rooms with the compressing walls a la Indiana Jones. Every inch of open space felt like precious and scarce realty when there was so much stuff crowding in around me. My mother, God bless her, has trouble letting go of things, to put it succinctly, and as a result took every opportunity to populate every corner of the house with furniture and surfaces for collecting masses of boxes and papers and miscellaneous junk. I rebelled against this claustrophobic environment and when I moved out of my parents' house I declared that I would live like a nomad carrying only the most minimal of possessions. My first apartment was a testament to this ideal and my huge room was spartan and minimalist and empty (also I hadn't been on my own long enough to accrue that many possessions). I became enamored with the idea of living in a loft or warehouse that was simply an enclosure of walls around free and open space.
My ideal has changed slightly somewhat as I have garnered more furniture and sentimental objects and tools and what have you. Samantha and I live in a 800 square foot 1950's bungalow with sparse and tiny closets and it seems like it has become a constant struggle to figure out what to do with all of our stuff. I'm not suddenly advocating clutter and packing your home to the ceiling, but now the prospect of loft-living gives me a little shiver. I see now that I could not escape my upbringing. I share the same propensity for collecting as my mother in a lot of ways and now I fear that living in a large space may only be an invitation to fill it up with art supplies and home-brewing equipment and what not. Furthermore I now see tighter spaces as more efficient and environmentally friendly. A smaller interior space forces one to take more frequent advantage of the open spaces outside. In our small home, our backyard and nearby parks have become our huge open living room and play area.
So I have been trying to convince Samantha to make our first home (that we own as marrieds) a sweet & tiny 350 square foot minihome - a sort of modern & modular take on the mobile home.
Living in such a tiny space means there is simply no room for clutter. An arrant article of clothing here or a disorganized paper pile there and within no time a space that small will begin to feel like its closing in. We'd have to get rid of three quarters of our furniture and 90% of our other possessions which is awesome. Like my mother must, I feel a pang every time I consider having to part company with a record or a milk crate of vhs tapes and constricting my space from the start (rather than with gradually encroaching possessions) seems like a shortcut to a more bearable lightness of being.
My ideal has changed slightly somewhat as I have garnered more furniture and sentimental objects and tools and what have you. Samantha and I live in a 800 square foot 1950's bungalow with sparse and tiny closets and it seems like it has become a constant struggle to figure out what to do with all of our stuff. I'm not suddenly advocating clutter and packing your home to the ceiling, but now the prospect of loft-living gives me a little shiver. I see now that I could not escape my upbringing. I share the same propensity for collecting as my mother in a lot of ways and now I fear that living in a large space may only be an invitation to fill it up with art supplies and home-brewing equipment and what not. Furthermore I now see tighter spaces as more efficient and environmentally friendly. A smaller interior space forces one to take more frequent advantage of the open spaces outside. In our small home, our backyard and nearby parks have become our huge open living room and play area.
So I have been trying to convince Samantha to make our first home (that we own as marrieds) a sweet & tiny 350 square foot minihome - a sort of modern & modular take on the mobile home.
Living in such a tiny space means there is simply no room for clutter. An arrant article of clothing here or a disorganized paper pile there and within no time a space that small will begin to feel like its closing in. We'd have to get rid of three quarters of our furniture and 90% of our other possessions which is awesome. Like my mother must, I feel a pang every time I consider having to part company with a record or a milk crate of vhs tapes and constricting my space from the start (rather than with gradually encroaching possessions) seems like a shortcut to a more bearable lightness of being.
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