Idle Free

Another VPR Commentary I forgot to post - about New Year's Resolutions.

OK, so, quite frankly, I have very mixed feelings about New Year's Resolutions.

While it's a nice idea, theoretically, to wipe the slate clean and start the year with a fresh set of goals for personal betterment, I honestly can't say I've ever followed through on any of mine for longer than a couple of days. Maybe a week. Have you? I mean, be honest. How long do they really last?

Still, one can't help but hope to have some kind of impact on something. And one thing I do know is that it's always nice to have a buddy - you know, like a workout partner - to help you keep on the right path. Or, even better, as we all know from junior high, if everyone else is doing something, then you'll probably want to do it, too. Right?

So I got to thinking: what's something that we could all collectively resolve to do together that would actually make a difference, not only in our lives, but in Vermont as a whole?

And, oddly enough, the first thing that came to mind was the whole issue of idling - running the car when it's not going anywhere. I know it seems like a minor thing, but, until you stop driving altogether, it's not. Turns out idling is a huge waste of both gas and money, and a big source of pollution. Idling spews enormous amounts of chemicals into the air and is linked to increases in asthma, allergies, heart and lung disease and cancer - not to mention climate change. Given that there are more than 550,000 cars and trucks registered in Vermont, reducing idling by just 5 minutes a day could cut CO2 emissions by 50,000 tons a year.

So, what if each one of us resolves to quit idling our car and commits to talking to five other people about it? I mean, really, it's not a big state. I bet among the lot of us we can probably reach everybody. Plus, when we run into our friends we'll have something to talk about that makes us sound chic and trendy. We can casually mention, "You know, I've gone Idle Free." And our friends will reply, "Oh, yes! We've been Idle Free for weeks now!" And everyone feels like they're totally hip AND taking some good "low-hanging fruit" kind of action - AND it's much easier than giving up, say, sugar or smoking.

Now, we also need a slogan. How about: "Idle hands may be the devil's playground, but idling cars are the devil's tailpipe." Or, for all of you children of the 70s out there, "Idle Free - You and Me." I'll keep working on it.

Now, to those who respond, "Well, I don't have a garage, so I only idle in the wintertime to melt the ice off my windshield," I say, "Invest $20 in one of those windshield covers, and then you won't have to waste any more gas!"

And to those who counter, "But I need to warm up the car," I say back unto you, "Oh, come on! You live in Vermont! Put on a hat and some mittens and warm up your car by driving it!" Even Click and Clack will tell you that modern cars don't need ten minutes to get ready to roll.

First Steps

Back in February, I helped organize a day of climate action at the Vermont Statehouse. I also wrote a VPR commentary about it, which I forgot to post. So here it is! You can listen to it here, or read below...

First Steps

In spite of having lived in Vermont for almost 20 years (with a little time off for good behavior), I’d never visited the Statehouse in Montpelier until just recently. The occasion was a gathering of activists rallying for bold, aggressive climate legislation.

While I didn’t know what to expect from a day in the hallowed halls of power, what I certainly didn’t anticipate was that it would be so much fun.

For one thing, it was easy. In New York City, you have to flash ID, sign in, and go through a metal detector just to get into most large office buildings. But here, in what they call “The People’s House,” you simply walk in the side door - just like you would at home. Of course, at home, you walk through the side door into your mud room, not into what looks like an episode of The West Wing, but still, you just walk in. Nobody questions your right to be there, because they all believe that it IS your right to be there.

Another surprise was discovering how many people I knew. From a Senator I first met in yoga class to a Representative I always run into in my local coffee shop to a lobbyist who’s also a subscriber at Vermont Stage Company, it really did feel just like a concentrated version of my community - which I think, again, is the whole point.

Like Town Meeting Day, it’s part of what distinguishes Vermont as a very human place. Even the most power-brokery power brokers are still your friends and neighbors, and if you bother to show up, you, too, can be part of the process of running the state.

Or, I might add, entertaining the state.

I have a one-woman show I do called The Boycott about the First Lady of the US launching a sex strike to combat global warming. The theme song for the show is a saucy little power ballad which demands, with rather Anglo-Saxonesque urgency, that we all cease and desist our planet-dismantling behavior. At lunch in the statehouse cafeteria (which is just like your high school cafeteria - you’re always looking for where the cool people sit), a couple legislators I didn’t even know came up to ask if I’d be singing this R-rated ditty in the House Chamber that afternoon.

I hadn’t been planning on it, as it wasn’t on my calendar to get arrested that day. But we climate activists did accidentally get into a little trouble anyway. Representative Sarah Edwards from Brattleboro had a climate resolution being read on the floor of the House, and a whole bunch of us sat in to support her and see if it would get passed.

Indeed it was passed, and the climate crew in the back of the room burst into cheers and applause. Turns out, this is NOT an acceptable part of House protocol, and Speaker Shap Smith had to whackety-whack his gavel and tell us to settle down and behave ourselves. Sorry, Speaker Smith. We really didn’t know.

Now, admittedly, this was a light day in the world of citizen participation. We were introducing ourselves to our legislators - and to each other. We weren’t wrangling for specific legislation, battling industry lobbyists, or going toe to toe with climate deniers.

Still, as a first step in building relationships, in learning whom to talk to and how to talk to them, in learning that each of us have a place in the governance of the state, it was a great first step.

We all know addressing climate change and building a sustainable, resilient, carbon-free Vermont won’t be easy. But in an era of widespread political apathy, cynicism, and divisiveness, the fact that we all left Montpelier feeling energized, hopeful, and looking forward to going back is, to my mind, a huge victory in itself.

The Picture Of Enough

Vermont Public Radio has an annual fundraising event called the Commentator's Brunch. About 30 commentators do 3-minute essays on a particular theme. This year's theme was Picture This. My submission was called The Picture of Enough.

My favorite comment afterwards was someone who said, "Who are you? You actually made me think."

Arlo's Daughter

Vermont Public Radio solicited commentaries about family Thanksgiving traditions as part of the National Day of Listening. Mine has to do with the ritual playing of Alice's Restaurant. You can listen to the commentary here.

For the readers among you, the text is posted below.

Have a family and fun-filled weekend!

Arlo's Daughter

I don't really have a long family history to recount. As far as I know, my Jewish ancestors got kicked around Europe for a few hundred years, landed at Ellis Island at the beginning of the 20th century, and promptly dismissed their grim past as not worthy of remembering.

My parents were no exception. While good at telling jokes, they weren't much for personal narrative. However, they did have a couple classic passions of their generation - folk music and liberal politics. They also loved Thanksgiving - a uniquely secular celebration which appealed to my father's die-hard atheism and his great love of a good dinner party.

One small bit of family lore I do know is that my maternal grandfather, Jack Soifer, was an OBGYN in Brooklyn. Grampa Jack specialized in delivering babies for lefty Jewish intellectuals, and his most famous catch was Arlo Guthrie.

My Mom and Grandmother have always considered Arlo an honorary member of the family.

So, of course, a big part of Thanksgiving in my house was the ritual of playing Alice's Restaurant. I heard it so many times that I know the whole thing by heart. Not just the words, but every cadence, every inflection, every little quirk of Arlo's delivery:

"Yes, sir, Officer Obie, I cannot tell a lie, I put that envelope under that garbage."

The odd thing, though, is that my lefty-politico parents never actually explained what Arlo was talking about in the second half of the song - the whole business about him trying to avoid the draft and not get sent to Vietnam.

So while that part didn't make a whole lot of sense to my young, impressionable self, I did get the distinct idea that it's good to be a smart-mouthed trouble-maker if there's something out there you object to.

More than that, I completely absorbed the concept of using the arts as a legitimate form of protest. Arlo says it himself: "If you wanna end war and stuff, you gotta sing loud." And I believed him.

I also believed him when he said, "Can you imagine fifty people a day, I said fifty people a day walkin' in, singin' a bar of Alice's Restaurant, and walkin' out. Friends they may think it's a movement. And that's what it is."

I believe that with all my heart. This is how we change the world. It doesn't take much. Fifty dedicated people, a bar of a good song, four part harmony, and feeling.

Happy Thanksgiving.