Little Victories

My fight against the inevitable yuppification that comes with age is turning into a losing battle. As I was coming out the front door of my house today, I looked on with glee as the recycling man threw my meticulously organized bins of glass, plastic, cans and paper into the truck. I had been concerned that my efforts would be foiled by the mysterious code that is Toronto Solid Waste Management. Week after week, boxes of recycling weren't taken away, but left cold and rejected on my front lawn. I was confused. Surely if they wanted you to reduce waste, they'd actually take away the items you're trying to recycle. And then I cracked the code. The days of single box recycling are over. You have to use at least 2 boxes and sort, sort, sort.

Last night I used a two bin and massive cardboard box strategy. M and I received our big Xmas present from my parents last weekend, and as a result had a very, very large box on our hands. I was worried that Mr. Recycling man would take the big WEGA box, but as I left the house I saw him look inside, see all the paper and cardboard lovingly organized for him, and throw it into the paper recycling truck. I was very pleased.

My morning joy deepened as I brought my two recycling bins to the side of the house and discovered that the property manager had acquired a new massive recycling bin for M and I, leaving me with a total of 3 bins. Weee.

IT IS SO WRONG THAT THIS MAKES ME HAPPY! SO, SO WRONG!

I was cool once. I really was. There were times when I would force myself to stay awake so that I could see a midnight screening of a much anticipated film. Last night, I went to bed at 11 p.m. The SHAME!

Today's sing-a-long song: "Loser" by Beck.

HRH