Some people, of course, don't give a beetle's bongo about their carbon footprint or climate change. We talk about them way too much. More and more, they're coming off like Spaniards in 1523 arguing on behalf of The Flat Earth. Some people, of course, do give a flying fig about all this melting and drying currently going on. If you're in this second category, and you feel like being a part of a statement, as in some enormous declaration of solidarity with like-minded folks who are truly concerned, you've been invited to participate in a Big One.
There's going to be a serious bunch of people hitting the streets in an enormous Green Wave (and kudos to Fallon High School for having a school nickname that is completely attuned to the vibe of the 21st century!) in New York City on September 21. From all indications, this could well be a seven-digit shindig. You want in? Just Google it up—“climate change march New York” will get you all the info you need.
Something I need to clean up is my ever-wavering position on Keystone XL. A few months ago, I declared myself to be officially on the fence of indifference about the Keystone XL Pipeline project, since the oil from Alberta tar sands is already flowing to Texas via the Keystone Pipeline. So the whole thing seemed done and moot. Since then, I've acquainted myself with the position of the Sioux tribe of South Dakota, who passionately hate XL since that pipeline would be built upon their property. OK, so I'm down with the Natives, and off the fence. No to XL. All XL does is make it possible for more glop to get to Houston. But there's already plenty of glop getting down to the Gulf. So screw it. And since the Koch Brothers will be gigantic beneficiaries of XL, well, as always, screw them, too.
One of the great American novelists of the last 50 years is the extraordinary Tom Robbins. He might well be my all-time fave author, with all of his eight novels being remarkable, especially Even Cowgirls Get the Blues and Jitterbug Perfume. But I was wary, for some reason, of his new book, Tibetan Peach Pie, which isn't a novel, but a collection of memories from his long (the man is 82!) and bodaciously colorful life. He openly declares that TPP ain't no damned autobiography, but just him waxing on some of the episodes and circumstances that he (1) actually remembers, and (2) finds notable.
I don't know why I was wary. Robbins, as usual, gets warmed up, gets a groove on, and rocks it in a way that is still unique, hilarious and way, way cool. So if you're a T.R. person, don't worry about it. Buy it. Download it. Dig it. His recollections of being an oddball performance artist in Seattle in '66 are worth the price of the download alone.