The unfortunate outcome of a charitable perspective

So I live downtown. Every Thursday night or Friday (recycling day) early morning, a number of people wander the streets with shopping carts, going through recycling bins for bottles they can reclaim for the refund. I don’t mind this, because you gotta make money somehow, and in a way it allows some independence and initiative. I have a lot of bottles from all over the place that I don’t need for brewing–screw top bottles or those with labels that won’t come off–and since I don’t go to the beer store much, since I brew my own, sometimes I throw a few in the bin knowing they’ll be taken, and the bottle takers will get some money.

Last night I put about ten pint bottles in the bin. I figured, well, this will net 80 cents for someone, and I won’t have to take them in. It’s win-win, right?

(I should note that this is not my only, or major, charitable activity. In fact, it’s not charitable. It’s just a thing I do. I’m not trying to make myself seem like some selfless hero of the underclass. I just don’t see anything wrong with what they’re doing, although some would disagree).

Well, this morning I woke up and looked outside at the curb. Something seemed amiss with my collection of bins and boxes.

Then I realized what it was: someone had removed all of the non-bottles from the recycling bin, and taken the bin, with the bottles.

So much for minor gestures of goodwill.

It made me want to put broken bottles in the bin (how’s that for a blind rage reaction?) but I will not do so. I will likely put a sign on my (new) bin from now on (saying “I put bottles in here and you thanked me by stealing my bin: fuck you”). That will probably result in the next bin being nicked, too. I also feel like sitting at the local beer store seeing who arrives with my bin and having a conversation, that would probably also end with “fuck you very much.”

But knowing me, I’ll probably just never put bottles in the bin again.  I guess if I was still feeling generous I could put them out in a separate box, but that would be nice, and you see where that got me.  It’s a minor thing, but insulting none the less.

Tech for dummies

Bought an iPad2. Have not used Apple products in years. Am very frustrated with the assumptions and insistences that iTunes places on you. You can’t sync your individual components to more than one computer. I tried to sync to a different computer than the first one I did this with and lost all my installed apps and data. Could never restore the data. Now, every time iTunes alerts me to something (the most recent is a scary and strange alert “”This computer is no longer authorized for apps that are installed on the iPad” (which is not true, it’s the only computer I’ve been using) I get panicked. I’m not sure if the shit with iTunes facism is really worth the iPad. As a result, I just avoid connecting it to my computer at all.

I guess I’m not surprised. I suspect that iTunes works in such a way as to avoid conflicts and crashes on the various devices. As a result, there has to be very little flexibility and everyone has to fit into quite specific ways of doing things. My guess is that this is why Macs are more stable, but PCs are not. PCs allow more flexibility and are much more open. But as a result, all sorts of crap gets on your system, messing up your registry, and takes your computer out of the hands of those who envisioned its stable operation.

I’m just not sure which is better.

(My sync is done and I haven’t lost everything. This time. Whew.)

How easy it could be to be mistaken as a self righteous vegetarian

So I don’t eat meat. It’s not a moral choice, and I don’t care what you eat. I don’t proselytize, and I don’t judge (though for some reason I can’t stand watching people eat lobster). I don’t call myself “vegetarian,” because frankly to me it seems that the term, for some people, is loaded with the sort of smug judgementalism I’m desperately trying to avoid.

But there is one thing that really sets me off. This is when, at events with buffets or some kind of communal eating situation, meat eaters eat up all the vegetarian options. I don’t actually blame the meat eaters. Just because you eat meat doesn’t mean you have to do so all the time. Vegetables are good, and we are constantly bombarded with health messages that claim a meatless diet is good for you (though I can’t see how a grilled cheese sandwich could be considered any better than a grilled chicken one).

No, I pin this problem on event organizers who think something like this: “well, there might be a few vegetarians, so well order a bit of vegetarian food.” I don’t blame them, but I’d like to enlighten them: you see, since meat eaters do, can, and often like to choose the meatless option (and why not?) vegetarians might end up with nothing to eat.

This is why I am usually rushing for the front of the buffet line at events. Not because I’m desperate to eat, but because I don’t want to be left with meat lover’s pizza when everyone else is noshing on the mediterranean. In other words, I don’t want to be left hungry.

This is why it might be easy to be mistaken for a self-righteous vegetarian. Asking simply that people leave something that I can eat can come across as demanding special privileges. When all I want is the same crummy meal opportunity that everyone else gets.

So if you’re an event planner, go ahead and over order vegetarian options. I don’t think that there is a dietary choice that requires people to need to eat meat, so you’re not really disadvantaging anyone. I refuse to play either the “it’s healthier” card (because often it is not) or the “I’m better than you because I’m vegetarian” angle (because I’m not). I just want everyone to be able to eat.

How the other half lives… and flies

Ok, first about the title.  The idea of ‘the other half’ meaning a rich half of the population is bull.  Bollocks, even.  There are very few of those people; certainly not half.

Anyway, here is my story.  When I got to Pearson airport yesterday afternoon, I stopped before the entrance to the baggage drop to pack my winter coat in my suitcase.  while there, for one minute, a guy walked up to the line, said ‘okay, we go in here’ and proceeded to lead what looked like a highschool class into the queue.  Great.  So, being an enterprising and impatient person at the airport (the line was empty before they got there) I walked up to the ‘Club world’ check in. 

Now, I was not travelling ‘club world’ which , in the four tier class system of British Airways flights, is the second to the top.  I was travelling World Traveller Plus, which is like coach with a little more room and power plugs.  Anyway, when I got to the counter, I admitted I was not Club World.  The guy sort of scowled politely and then said oh, well, you’re here now.  Then I remembered to ask what I always ask: how much for an upgrade.

Well, it was $400.  That is not unreasonable, given that Club world has those seats that become beds.  I thought: if I can sleep now, I will not have to crash when I get to my friend’s place.  Which, BTW, was going to be noon the next day, about five hours after I arrived.

Little did I know what i signed up for.  Well, I had some ideas: exclusive lounge (with free booze and food galore).  Then the nice seats.  Table-esque service at the seat, with cloth napkins, steel cutlery, and all that good stuff (BA is pretty good anyway for amenities like beer and wine on flights).  But it got better.

First, though , I should admit that after takeoff, I wasn’t all that impressed.  The problem with the layout of that part of the plane is that it feels very open, and I felt very exposed (I was on an aisle, not in a very private window seat). 

Then I had dinner, which was three or four courses, not in those little trays with the tinfoil covering the, but real food, and a fresh salad and all that.

Ok, it was getting better.  After a bit of relaxing, I decided to try the bed.

Now Club World is not First Class.  The bed goes down but it’s just about 6 feet long.  I’m 6’1″.  So I was a little cramped.  Moreover, the seat is just slightly wider than a normal airline seat, so I was flat, but pretty straight–no rolling on the stomach and sprawling, which is my normal sleeping modus operandi.

And I didn’t feel like I slept.  It was more like laying down and thinking… lulling… jolting awake a few times.  But suddenly I opened my eyes to see the cabin lights back on.  that meant we were an hour away from London.  this was amazing.  Even though I thought maybe I had been laying on my side mulling stuff for about an hour, I had actually slept–intermittently, but still slept–for probably 4-5 hours. Nice

But it got better.  When they handed out the landing cards (the things you give to immigration control) they handed me two other pieces of paper.  One was a ‘fast track’ through immigration control–the richies get a separate line.  the other was entry to the arrivals lounge.  this lounge has private bathrooms with big, luscious showers, (full body jets type showers) and a big breakfast buffet.  Computers galore (I’m writing at one of them) and all the conservative newspapers you want.

The problem, of course, is I feel like a total fish out of water.  I just sort of hide off to the side and try to look inconspicuous.  And keep eating.

I’m amazed the other half aren’t ridiculously fat, too.  But maybe they’re not so affected by the abundance all around (ironically, they also have packs of ‘weight watchers’ branded cookies here, so maybe that’s their secret).

Off to Bristol.  Maybe I’ll muse later, but I’ll probably just doze.  I’m taking a first class train coach (can you blame me, it cost £25?) so maybe I’ll get to know more of the other half.  Or the other .5%.  Or whatever.