On Sucking

The cloud's silver lining is more of an ash gray at this point, but here it is: the predicted highs of 100 in Portland in Jesus Johnson September did not arrive because wildfire smoke obscured the sun. This is what counts for good news in Climate-Change-Denial Land.

At sundown, it was 87 degrees and snowing. Snowing something. Because my idea of quarantining young men between the ages of 12 and 28 has never gained traction, we now have 33,000 acres of pristine forest on fire, and counting. The Columbia River Gorge, strenuously green and laced with waterfalls, is systematically being incinerated and its ash redistributed over the Portland area. This follows a particularly hot and dry summer season which we have been advised will be our new normal. Anywhere you live, actually, you may now expect a new normal, but--our short attention spans aside--novelty is not in itself a worthy goal. The wildfire currently consuming the Gorge is a direct consequence of humanity's systematic extraction and burning of otherwise dormant carbon stores over the last couple hundred years. With punctuation provided by one or two young assholes with firecrackers.

We first heard the news while eating lunch in a diner on Mt. Hood. The waitress brought over a glass of water with a plastic straw in it. "Hold the straw," I forgot to say. Seems like straws come automatic these days, and it always surprises me. I can't think of anything I drink that needs a straw, let alone everything I drink. There's a campaign on now to get people to say "no" to straws. It probably started with the heartbreaking video of a rescue worker pulling a plastic straw out of a sea turtle's nostril. Straws, and all other plastic garbage, have a way of making it to the ocean.

Things are going to have to change around here, and straws seem like easy enough targets to start with. Because when do we ever need a straw? If we're not prone in a hospital bed with only a bendy straw between us and nutrition, when do we need one? Must we suck? So. At the very least let us campaign against straws.

I tried, when I got a glass of water at a local brewpub that prides itself on being environmentally friendly. They answered my letter promptly:

While the concern for sea life is pressing, most of Portland's garbage goes to the Columbia Ridge Landfill, which is located east of The Dalles and away from the Columbia. There would have to be some extenuating circumstances for our plastic trash to make its way into the ocean.

Extenuating circumstances! Yes. And yet those are what somehow manage to send 5.25 trillion pieces of plastic to our oceans. Sad, as they say, but that's circumstance for you.

We used to use biodegradable plastics for straws and to-go wares. Unfortunately, Portland stopped accepting these items in their composting program, and we had to take a hard look at our disposables. We ended up making the decision to stock a high post-consumer recycled content straw, because if it's all headed to the landfill we want to make sure that we're using a plastic that has lived through more than one cycle and been utilized to its full potential.

Okay. However, there is such a thing as a paper straw. And, there is such a thing as not needing a straw in the first place. I grew up without plastic straws and air conditioning and a lot of other things that we now apparently need. So did the rest of the humans that existed before about 1970, which is quite a good portion of them, all told.

A friend offered an explanation for the sudden proliferation of straws. "I think it started with lipstick," she said. "Lipstick is too hard to wash off glasses, and requires human scrubbing, which is not cost-efficient. Thus, straws are provided with each glass in case the human plans to put lipstick on it." All righty then, that makes sense. Lipstick: another plastic tube containing significant amounts of palm oil retrieved for profit from monoculture plantations for which gigantic swaths of primary forest have been razed, resulting in 80-100% loss of native species, and also containing compounds that kill fish and plankton and cause mutations in amphibians, packaged together in order that we might provocatively accentuate our pieholes, and necessitate the use of plastic straws to trim labor costs.

Dear lord, dear large theoretical sky person who cares about us and watches over the sparrow that falls, by all that is holy--and I would include here the moss and ferns and pikas and salamanders of the Columbia River Gorge--may we humans begin to define "what we need" as what we...actually...need? And, failing that, dear lord, might you allow us to suck less?

Makeup For Crones

I kept seeing this ad for some beauty line with the caption "Ten makeup tips for women over fifty." I guess the internet has nailed my demographic, if not my style, which is best described as "not applicable." If I were giving the tip, it would be "Just march on out there with what God gave you and give it a go," but that didn't even make the top ten. The person providing the tips is a stunning 64-year-old woman who needs makeup like a jellyfish needs stretch pants. When she dies people are going to want to dig her up for one last look. Nevertheless, it's makeup she's selling. I don't know how much of her product you'd need to buy to look like her, but I do know you'd also need joint compound, a sander, and Leonardo da Vinci in your contacts list.

To her credit, though, she thinks you don't need much makeup. At your age, Petunia, less is more. Which is great, because you can't get any more less than I have. "Don't overdo it," she cautions. "After age fifty, your face is not a blank slate anymore." Boy howdy and ain't it the truth! Nothing blank about it. It's got some wear to it. She says she let herself go gray at age 45. I haven't worn makeup since I was sixteen, so that's about when I started letting myself go gray, also. It took another thirty years.

Oh, and this one other time.

Anyway, she warns against using any kind of powdered foundation because, as she delicately puts it, you don't want "unwanted extra texture." The implication is that at this point you've started to accumulate some personal texture of your own that you might not want to draw attention to. Sweet baby Moses in a sunhat, I'll say! It's a freakin' moonscape, innit? I've got stuff growing out of my face that was never on the original work order, but there it is. I'm counting on most of it not being cancerous.

So you sure don't want to use any kind of powder. That just settles in drifts in your personal arroyos whilst tiny tumbleweeds of talc drift about and collect in the beard zone. What she'd like you to use instead is something more like lipstick, but for all over. "Is there a woman who hasn't dabbed a little lipstick on her cheeks for a quick touch-up?" Why, yes, there is. There's at least one who never dabbed any on her lips, either. One time when I was too young to have money to buy makeup and was most certainly not going to get any past the parents anyway, I put a little baby powder on my lips, because we were going through that fashion nanosecond when white lips were cool. It tasted weird and I gave it up. I couldn't afford the go-go boots either.

Oh wait--I also tried someone's red lipstick on a dare, just that one time, and wiped it off in nearly the same instant. I was going for an Ingrid Bergman look but the effect was more like a stab wound.

Still, the concept here is that you get a few items for your Kit--you get to have a Kit!--that come in big wide tubes and you goo it on yourself. Kind of all over. You're not supposed to put on MUCH makeup in any one spot, but there's no limit to the territory you can cover. The champagne-colored one, for instance, is meant to go in the inner corner of your eyes, your cheekbones, your shoulders, and your decollete. I know what that is. That would be your boobular region, and I'm not up for chasing that around with a stick of goo. It would be one thing if we still wore those 18th-century gowns that mash everything up above the bodice where you can reach it.

I have a different plan for my decollete. That fine-sand beach got covered with riprap decades ago, and I plan to keep it covered the hell up.

There's more. Eyeshadow: it should be a shade lighter than your skin tone. But our friend has an even more daring proposition. "If you can," says she, "even try going eyeshadow-free!" Way ahead of you, babycakes.

But the biggest mistake old women make is to use too much under-eye concealer. I never heard of under-eye concealer. Sounds handy.

Most of me is under my eyes.