Believe me compacting is for neither the young nor the fun. There is only so much enjoyment one can squeeze out of not eating out nor ever buying anything new for a whole year. Let me assure you it grows stale very quickly. So, if you’re young and still in the hunting, gathering stage forget this little experiment, rather join Greenpeace and blow something up, or if you still really want to heal the world, kill yourself. Obviously that’s the most effective answer and the proof’s with the Irish; why do you think they have a happy wake whenever anyone dies? They think ‘thank God, one less to plunder our resources’.
The rest of us keep saying ‘let’s rid the world of poverty, let’s rid the world of Aids and hopefully everyone will become healthy, wealthy, car driving, educated and reproductive. Except, the scientists tell us, the environment won’t cope, someone’s got to give. Mr Beavan will have to think of something a little more imaginative than forsaking the toothpaste.
We need a radical change in our attitude to death. We need Mr Beavan to go out there and see how many upper-middleclass New Yorkers he can convince to jump off the World Trade Centre. These damn writers, the Mrs Conlin-Beavan’s of the world, they’ve got to stop pushing investments in this life and start pushing their readers into thinking of the hereafter, the 72 virgins awaiting each of us on the other side. The paradise, please, we need some takers.
Naturally the environment is not my reason for becoming a compactor – I’m a liver not a die-er - I live on a continent where there’s only 1 television set per 349 people, where there’s approximately 3 computers between 1000 people; I can’t imagine much global warming coming out of this place and we’ve got about a million people living with full blown aids, 30% of pregnant women reportedly have aids, Christ we’re doing our best to die like flies, so don’t point grubby little carbon emission covered fingers at us.
What I’m doing is looking for value. Obviously it’s all about me. See my life’s lost a bit of meaning in the day to day routine. Think of your own life – how often do you throw food away, never wear clothes you buy? I do it all the time, I buy clothes that sit in my cupboard with their tags still attached. I have things and because I can replace them without thinking, they seem to have no value to me. Now that I’m on my little crusade I’m finding I love some of my stuff, its suddenly become meaningful. It’s a little frightening to think ‘what happens if my Marc Jacobs winter bag – the only really nice one I have for this winter – breaks or falls in the bath?’ I mean this is scary stuff.
And this feeling of appreciation is filtering into all parts of my life, it’s changing my outlook and that’s good. It’s not really about the money either, although I have to admit, when I turned the tap off, the money started pooling, it’s amazing how much money mindless spending takes. So for a year this is the new improved me and I’m going to try to keep writing here, not because it’s very interesting for you, dearest reader, the one and only little light of my life, but because I enjoyed the year I wrote before and I want to keep a track of how it’s going, not to mention that none of my friends or Roger for that matter are remotely interested in this boring new campaign of mine. What’s the point if there’s no payoff? Actually, now I think of it, what is the payoff to this? Well, time is no longer of the essence, so to speak, I mean its freely available to me in huge quantities. What with no shopping, no spending, no wasting. Basically I’m working, gardening, cooking, seeing friends and now, writing here. I’m living the microcosm. I told R the other day, ‘hey guess what? I’m an honest to God compactor! No more buying for a whole year.’ ‘Does that include facials, hair salon, travel and entertaining?’ he asked. So these are the rules,
Ok reader, whomever you are, that's enough now. I wrote this blog and i can tell you, you've finished reading this column, it only get's alot worse. Give yourself a break here.
I’ve twisted them around to suit me: NO:
• Buying clothes or shoes or handbags for a year; new or old, I’ll not interested in wearing someone else’s cast offs, although for some eBay is their new Wal-Mart.
• Eating out at restaurants. • Buying ready prepared, take away food. • Buy CD’s or books.
• No plants or fresh flowers What I’m allowed is this: • Anything to do with hair I’m allowed: cutting, colouring, highlighting, waxing, tinting – I can’t go a year without. • Any food to buy in and cook – anything and I have to say I’m enjoying the whole home experience.
• Home maintenance • Anything needed for work or health. • Anything Roger needs. • I’m allowed to borrow anything belonging to anyone else and eat out at others’ homes. • I’m going to Spain at Xmas – planned ages ago.
So last week I told the husband ‘Listen dearest we have to move out of the bedroom because they’re coming to blast out the en-suite and redo’. So he says ‘I thought we were compacting?’ ‘Yes precious’ I reply ‘Maintenance is allowed’. ‘By maintenance’ he informs me ‘they mean sticking a tile back on that’s fallen off the wall’. This is of course nonsense. Maintenance is something which is open to interpretation and mine includes upgrading the home. It includes travertine in the sunroom and the kitchen, which is going to be ripped out and sent on its merry way with the staff deep into the township somewhere to be bartered off for drink and drugs.
Lastly, what would happen if every American stopped buying clothes for just one year? Since it seems the whole garment industry now is in China I wonder how that would affect them?
So I guess what I really mean is: Its not enough to live; others must die.
