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The old saying is true: It’s not easy being green

POSTED: October 5, 2012 12:00 p.m.

I, more than anyone on Earth, realize that I am very unknowing and, for the most part, lackadaisical when it comes to being passionate about the world’s greenery.

I know I should try and change my sorry ways when it comes to hugging a tree, but I really was upset when I read that a snooty little city in California is going to cut down 70 full-grown trees just so the city can move the space shuttle eight miles from the airport to its final resting place, Chico’s Monkey Farm and Space Museum. According to the people along the shuttle’s route, there has to be a better way. You see, the wing span of the shuttle is wider than the street, so the trees had to come down. One disgruntled neighbor said that they could use one of those big helicopters like they use on “Extreme Logging.” But the loggers who own the chopper wouldn’t give them the keys because the same loggers with the helicopter are the guys who got the contract to cut down the trees in the first place. It’s a vicious cycle of bad guy versus badder guy.

Now, with that said, I have found myself in a tormented quagmire. My wife informed me that, from here on out, we’re going to recycle. She called the people who bring the green cans to your house and told them that we were going green.

Up until now, I thought that recycling was when you sold your old Harley and bought a new one. But nooooo.

The green-can people brought me another green can, except this one has a bright-yellow lid, which, of course, lets you know that you can only throw things in it that won’t fit in the other one. Now my problem is lack of sleep due to the decision making over being green. Paper, plastics and glass all are fine for the yellow-lidded can, but anything slimy or resembling fish guts, crab shells or leftover collard greens go in the one with the green lid.

I now know how Kermit feels: It’s not easy being green.

Recently, I had a horrible nightmare that the two cans were side by side in my yard, and the lids were like giant mouths. I was standing in front of them with a plastic baggie full of fish guts trying to figure out where to throw them, and the cans were yelling at me.

“Feed me!” the yellow lid cried. “Plastic baggies are my favorite snack.”

“No, feed me!” the green lid screamed. “I must have fish guts.”

I threw the baggie down, ran back in the house and locked the door. A raccoon came along and ate the guts, and the baggie blew off down the road, just like the old days when I sang the Dumpster blues and ate the greens.

We are awash in plastic. The six-pack rings alone have old yeller bulging, and I’ve only had it a couple of days. There’s no room for the L.L.Bean magazines, so they’re all stacked up in the corner of the living room with the holidays just around the corner. But I’m afraid that if I throw them in the green lid, some trash narc will haul me off to the slammer. I tell you, I’m bordering on neurotic over this thing.

Pernell Dupree, my friend and spiritual advisor, told me that the recycle truck and the garbage truck secretly meet up at the landfill and commingle their loads. If I find out that there’s an inkling of truth to this rumor, I’ll have to be put on suicide watch. I spent almost seven decades throwing my trash in one can, and now I’m faced with alphabetizing and cross-referencing my refuse.

As far as I can tell, the only redeeming factor that’s come out of all of this is that I’m working on a new song I hope to have ready for Christmas:

“Well, my baby brought me some broccoli.
It was wrapped in a plastic sack.
I told her it smelled too funky.
She would have to take it back.”

“You can’t return no veggies.
That’s a Piggly Wiggly rule.”
In the words of the Lightnin’ Hopkins;
‘What is you gonna do?’”

“Oh, I got the greens.
Yeah, yeah, baby, I got the greens.
Some peoples sing the blues,
but me I sing the greens.”

 

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