Let Me Ask You Something: How do You Feel About Frilly Toothpicks?

Those of you who appreciated Aaron's shoutout to Mitch Hedberg will certainly appreciate this one, too. For once, though, I must say I ain't FOR 'em (frilly toothpicks, that is).

To tell you the truth, I forgot all about the damn things until the frilly little thang showed up with my tempeh burger.
Thus far, eating at restaurants has turned out to be much easier than I thought it would be. I opt for places that use real silverware (though I do have a camping set in my backpack, just in case), and metal tins for sauces instead of those little plastic things. I've been getting good at ordering small, because I can't leave anything on the plate! (I'm not too into the idea of carrying containers around so I can pack my own leftovers...)

I leave wrapped condiment packets alone, and I don't order anything with bones because I can't compost them. I generally leave with a small wad in my pocket: a crumpled napkin for the burn pile, with that orange peel and parsley garnish for the compost.

Some people question my philosophy on paper napkins. I thought about carrying a cloth napkin around so I wouldn't have to use the paper ones, but I actually need paper mass to start fires with at home. I even use paper towels in the kitchen because otherwise I don't have enough paper to start fires with (my housemates and I read our news and pay our bills online). I figure its better to burn a used paper towel than a fresh one. Plus, I have this feeling they throw unused napkins away anyway if you leave them on the table.

But man, like a frilly toothpick straight to the heart, my mainstay cafe stuck me with some real-life, undeniable trash.

It Was the Strangest Thing...

I was sitting on the couch talking to a friend on the phone, when suddenly water started spewing out of the cupboard above my stove. I mean just pouring. It was falling in sheets onto the hood and from there pooling on the range. Did a pipe break? was my only thought until suddenly the flow started to taper off, and then, drip... drip... it stopped.

Did a big hunk of ice fall through the roof and drain a bunch of snowmelt into the kitchen?

When I got closer, I realized that the stuff wasn't water. It was a little thicker than water. A little yellower... a little oilier. And in fact, it was canola oil. The thick glass bottle had spontaneously fissured horizontally, ALL THE WAY AROUND the middle. The bottle was still standing, looking pretty well in tact, but when I reached for it, the top half lifted right off the bottom. Nothing else was touching it, either - no evidence that anything had fallen on it. I've never seen anything like it in my life.

What does this have to do with the Trash Project? Two things:

1. It wasn't a canola oil bottle. It was a Crown Royal Whiskey bottle that I had filled with canola oil in the bulk section. Suddenly I found myself wondering if this was some sort of strange sign... somebody trying to challenge me on the trash-free thing. This bottle has quite a story behind it. It was a holiday gift from my uncle, mostly for the "ski goggle sack" that it comes in, or so said Uncle Dave... The bottle went to Chile and back with me, unopened. When it finally got consumed, it made a friend of mine really really really really sick. That same friend was on the phone with me when the bottle broke. Spooky...


2. I just increased my trash accumulation volume by like 10,000%. Broken glass is not only useless, but also dangerous, and most cities won't recycle it (because of the hazard to employees).


I should mention that up to this point, I've been carrying my trash accumulation around in the useful "ski goggle sack" that the Crown Royal bottle came in - yet another strange coincidence - and until the broken bottle, I only had 4 tiny things in it, weighing in at just over an ounce all together:

• A little tag that came on a bunch of organic kale. I thought it was paper when I bought it, but when I tore it from the re-usable twist-tie, it turned out to be plastic.
• A rubber hatchet-blade protector that was doing just fine until I forgot to remove it before chopping kindling. The thing split in two, becoming trash by a single hatchet blow.
  
• A foil-lined envelope flap (the rest of the envelope was just paper) from a friend's wedding invitation.
• An itty-bitty piece of plastic that detached itself from a reusable bag.
  

And that's it. I swear. And now the bottle. I guess that thing really wanted to find its way back to the purple sack!

So yeah, despite being bummed about getting pegged with a big bag of trash, and having to clean cups-full of oil off of a variety of kitchen surfaces, I just can't get over how strange the whole thing was.

Potty Talk

The question has become inevitable: what about toilet paper?

Toilets, much like curbside trash pickup services, have this uncanny way of whisking things away and allowing us to believe they've disappeared. But we all know that's too good to be true.

The ideal setup for the Trash Project would include a composting toilet - a wonderful flushless contraption that turns human waste, as well as toilet paper, back into soil. Some look like outhouses, but there are plenty of models designed for indoor use in standard home bathrooms, and they look just like flush toilet without the lever. And believe it or not, composting toilets are completely odorless.

Unfortunately, my house doesn't have a composting toilet, so I'm forced to flush my share of TP. But my very own composting toilet is the first thing on my wish list. Maybe next year...

THE STRAW THAT BROKE THE CAMEL'S BACK: Tales of Bars, Cafes, and Airplanes

"NOOOOOO!" I screamed as the bartender reached for the plastic straw. But my holler dissipated into the lively chatter of our local pub.

In a flash of flying arms and red plastic, my friend Beth dove across the bar pulling the straw out of the drink and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, started chewing on it. "I needed a toothpick anyway" she said, winking at me. Before I could decide whether I should sigh in relief (because I didn't have to leave the bar with any trash), or tell Beth she shouldn't rescue me like that (because really, that's totally cheating, right?); the bartender looked back at the drink, and with a confused I-could-have-sworn-I-just-put-a-straw-in-that-drink look on her face, reached for another one.

"No-no-no-no-no," I tried in a renewed frenzy, this time with Beth hollering along with me. The bartender startled as our shrill cries broke through the uniform buzz of the bar. In a swift panic she released that second straw - because apparently somebody's life depended on it - straight into the trash.

Suddenly, in an earnest attempt to save one straw, I had actually wasted two. What a bummer.

This kind of event is actually quite common. I can think of a few times in the past that I've gone to a coffee shop and handed over my own mug, only to have the barista make the drink in a paper cup, transfer it to my mug, and throw the cup away right in front of my alarmed eyes. But my favorite story has to be my mother's recent account of proudly holding up her thermos for a flight attendant, asking for some hot water. "Sure thing!" was the response from the attendant, who returned promptly with a big smile and not-one-but-two Styrofoam cups full of steaming hot water to be poured into the thermos.

Though it may be a no-brainer to us that bringing our own containers is a great (and increasingly common) way to reduce our dependence on disposables, it's not automatic for everybody. I've found it helps to drop a hint as to why I'm offering my own container, right as I hand the thing over. Even just a passing "trying to do what I can to throw less away..." goes a long way. Otherwise the server's muscle memory is likely to take over.

Think about it: the poor broke college kid who takes your order probably reaches for literally hundreds of disposable cups/straws/whatevers each day, usually at a frantic pace, glancing up to take the next customer's order as they mindlessly drop that finishing touch of plastic into your order. Either that, or they're shouting your order to somebody else, who's not likely to have seen that you brought your own mug. A deliberate comment or explanation is usually all it takes to get them to register the idea behind the gesture.

Last night I had another opportunity to order a cocktail without a straw, so I just told the bartender I had given up trash for Lent, and asked if she could please forget about the straw. Of course she said yes, and now that she had a background reason, I didn't have to worry about her busy bartender muscle memory taking over when it came time to reach for that li'l ole piece o' plastic.

By the way, if you just don't feel like explaining the whole thing to one more bartender, a local beer on tap is always a safe choice.

Gettin' Saucy

I decided to play by Aaron's rules and count recycling as trash. Between hygienic seals and lids, it's almost impossible to find a "recyclable" container that doesn't leave you with some form of trash anyway. The one exception to this is tin cans, but I kinda figured I could live without those, too.

It wasn't until I opened a cookbook that I realized how limiting the no-tin-can thing could be. I had already figured out meat's out of the question, and dairy products are pretty hard to find without trash also. But without tin cans, most recipes get eliminated. It's hard to find even a basic soup recipe that doesn't require either veggie stock, canned tomatoes, or beans, all of which I usually get in tin cans.


My mission for the weekend became clear: to cut out yet one more middle-person in the soil-to-consumer food chain and make my own basics from scratch - there are tons of recipes online. Veggie stock and tomatoes turned out to be surprisingly quick and easy. Beans are certainly easy, too, but they have to soak overnight before going in the pot. The biggest bonus is that all of these goodies turned out tastier than anything I could have found in a can, and filled the house with an amazing aroma.

Stay tuned for more tales of forced creativity...

What About Parties?

The first two days of the trashless period went off without a hitch. Quite honestly, I had hoped there would be a little more strain involved (the knowing angel on my right shoulder is telling me to be careful what I wish for here...)

It's not until leaving the daily routine - my own realm of control - that it gets a little more difficult, and I had my first taste of it last night. I went to a celebration of the Tibetan New Year, bringing a (trashless) growler of beer from the local brewery as my contribution to the party. (The bottle can be returned - cap and all - to the brewer for reuse; unlike most bottles of wine, there are no nit-picky pieces (like foil) that need to be thrown away.)

The party was a lively event with food, drink, music, dancing, and fun.

Music, dancing, and fun? No problem. Food and drink? Not necessarily a problem... until you consider all the disposable plates, cups, and utensils used to partake in them. I enjoyed a few traditional treats that could be eaten as finger food, and luckily I had a coffee cup with me that I used for drinks.

It did remind me, though, that sometimes there's some sensitivity required in balancing an effort like The Trash Project with general rules of social grace.

This was a large gathering of people and it felt appropriate to use my own mug, and also to opt out of most of the food. But what will I do in a situation where it feels rude or insensitive to bring my own utensils into somebody else's home, or to turn something down that's offered by a host?

TRASH Wednesday

Today is the day the trashless period begins, and I'm ready to rock and roll.

Compost?
Check!

Reusable Containers?

Check, check, and check!

But what to do with all those products I use that don't fit the trashless paradigm? I've spent the last few days collecting these things, and thinking of alternatives. As of today, these things will be put in the vault.



Will I miss them? Not at all.

Let me tell you about some trashless alternatives, each conforming to at least one of the Key Principles for a trashless existence (see sidebar).

DENTAL FLOSS
The problem: Even though this brand of dental floss is burnable (natural fibers covered in wax), floss doesn't have any fire-starting value. And anyway, the cap on the inside of the lid (that thingy that dispenses and cuts the floss) is not recyclable, nor is the outer packaging that this already-packaged product usually comes in.
Alternative: The toothpick on my handy-dandy pocket knife!
Principle 1: Durable, Reusable Goods.

FACEWASH
The problem: This kind of tube (also typical of sunscreens, lotions, and other soaps) may be recyclable, but the lids are not. They're also not easily refillable.
The alternative: Use a refillable container and get your soaps, detergents, shampoos, conditioners, and lotions in bulk. (You don't see my shampoo bottle in this pile is because I've been reusing the same one for over a year already!) As for solid soaps and shampoos, there are plenty of package-free varieties out there, just check your local natural foods store.
Principles 2 & 3: Packaging-Free Products; Reusable Containers

DEODORANT
The problem: This packaging is not recyclable, and I'm not nearly creative enough to think of a legitimate alternative use for an empty deodorant cannister.
The alternative: I found one brand that comes in a non-aerosol spray bottle, with no other packaging at all. These spray bottles are quite nifty, and can be re-filled and used to spray any kind of liquid long after the original product is gone.
Principle 3: Reusable Containers.

LIGHTERS
The problem: Here in woodstove land (western Massachusetts), we light lots of fires in the winter time. Too bad lighters are nothing but trash, and filled with toxic fluid to boot.
The alternative: Good-ole trusty matches. Just light the fire and throw it in!
Principle 5: Burnable Products and Packaging.

TOOTHPASTE
The problem: I've never seen a toothpaste cannister that's recyclable or reusable in any way. Good thing my fourth grade science teacher taught me that toothpaste is entirely superfluous anyway. Though toothpaste leaves you minty fresh, it's the brushing that does the work.
The alternative: Pure, simple baking soda. Not only is it a great natural breath freshener and tooth whitener, it's cheap, it goes a long way, and the box is entirely recyclable or burnable. I'll let you know how long it takes to get used to the taste...
Principle 6: Simpler Alternative

BASIC FIRST AID
The problem: I certainly didn't imagine an upside to cutting the crap out of my thumb on a can opener last week, but the bloodbath turned out to be a blessing in disguise because without it, I would never have considered trash-free alternatives to first aid supplies. I hope you never have a reason to use these things, but the truth is, it's a good idea to keep first aid supplies around. With traditional adhesive bandages, even if the wrapper is just paper, the bandage itself is landfill bound. Ointments also generally come in those trashy plastic tubes.
The alternative: Gauze pads are burnable and compostable, and they typically come wrapped in paper with no other packaging besides a recyclable, burnable cardboard box. I stocked up in case I decide to cut the other thumb anytime soon. I also found some nifty reusable cling-tie stuff to fasten gauze with. As far as cleaning wounds, my trusty housemates (who happen to be students of Tibetan medicine) taught me that the best way is to soak them in a cup of lukewarm salt water for about ten minutes before re-dressing. This draws out the toxins, and to my surprise, doesn't hurt one bit! (I also found some soothing ointment at the natural foods store that comes in a reusable tin without other packaging.)
Principles 1, 3, 4, 5 & 6: Durable, Reusable Goods (cling-tie) Reusable Containers (ointment); Biodegradable Products (gauze); Burnable Products and Packaging (gauze and packaging); Simpler Alternatives (salt wash).

AEROSOL CANS
The problem: everything.
The alternative: I can't think of a single thing that I really need that comes in an aerosol can. This product of "occasional use" for me will become a product of "zero use!"
Principle 7: Deprivation!