Taylor

I like mudpies because they make my bottom burble

but I don't care, they can all eat popsicle

Trashof the Highest Variety

     A fifteen year oldboy wakes up on Christmas morning to a box covered in brand new wrappingpaper.  Tearing through the neatlycovered box, he sees the shiny box bearing the inscription Power Book G4.  But what of the old laptop, the one heso loved the previous months?  Thefact is that every year two years, there is a new model, operating system, andnew cased computer that is put out on the market.  Many people across the globe get the lastest system, with thethought that, now I have the best computer.  Sticking their old computer into the original box, they shipit off to a charity they want to help, or the company that sold it to them thatpromises to dispose of it properly. But very rarely do these companies recyclethem without producing harmful effects to the environment.

     For a large part ofour country, a lot of people have a lot of  concerns about whether we recycle or not.  They don’t believe that it is harmfulto the environment, but other countries do.  The European Union requires companies to safely disposeelectronic waste, but many tons still seem to slip by them. Other first worldnations are not aiding to the problem either.  China, a major manufacturer of electronic goods, issuffering the brunt of the electronics waste, and is putting much of the wasteinto landfills, which is affecting many of the locales health.  The reason for China’s problems is nothard to figure out. These laws created by the EU have only been in effect since1989, and China’s waste program has only been disposing of  electronics  properly since that time, although many of these people usethe dead circuit boards as a primary means of income, but that is proving to bea costly mistake.

     These developingnations are burning these harmful chemicals, because the motherboards carryvaluable metals such as gold, silver, and copper. The PBDE’s, or PolybrominatedDiphenyl ethers, are a flame retardant substance that many computer companiesuse in their products, and cause a number of health problems.  To name one of the effects, the PBDE’sare detrimental to the neuro-development by inhibiting proper blood flow.  But the PBDE’s are not the only harmfultoxins that effect these people. Lead, which is also used in the production of computer parts, is toxicto the kidneys’, and destroys the nervous and reproductive organs. It alsoeffects brain activity, even from a low exposure to the toxin.  When exposed to Cadmium (which is aprime component found in these computers) over long periods of time, can leadto serious bone damage. These activities are primarily performed through thesame Woks and cooking pots that the children and families are using to preparetheir meals (Carroll pg. 70)

       Less than twenty percent of allelectronics are being sent to companies, which advertise recycling, butpromoting fictitious plans.  Manycompanies, like the Goodwill organization, have denied outsourcing theirrecycling, even though computers with labels from their company have been foundin Acca, Ghana  (Carroll pg.69).  Upon further investigation, Ifound that many of the companies that advertise their recycling capabilities,were unwilling to discuss where their recycling facilities were, and when askedwhether they outsource their electronics to developing nations, a few statedthey had no comment.

     But stopping the flowof electronics waste to China will only exacerbate the problem for otherdeveloping nations.  India, Ghana,China, Pakistan, and countries all over Africa are receiving the electronicsrefuse from countries like Australia, Canada, The United States and NewZealand, which promotes to the rest of the world how environmentally involvedthey are.  We need to createproactive solutions in order to deal with the large amount of electronics thatare flooding our planet, like proper recycling systems.

     Since 1994, a companycalled Creative Recycling Systems, has sprung up in areas all over the SouthEast.  A company with awards fromvarious organizations like HIPPA, ISO, and the IAER, their goal is to create nowaste, and to supply the nationscompanies with a solution to this problem.  They also use a three million dollar recycling machine,which has been called “David” to deal with the “Goliath” of the problem ofe-waste. David works extremely well, and has already been in use in manyEuropean countries, as the standard for recycling in these countries isextremely high.  It can recycleanything, from computers to monitors, from cell phones to high definitiontelevisions (Carroll Pg. 73), and the air that comes out of the machine isfresher than the factory oxygen (Carroll Pg. 73).

   Other companies have sprung outof the mold, like Global NIS, which is in accordance with the CaliforniaElectronics Waste program, and disposes of all electronic items. They will evencome to your house to pick up your old electronics.

     These companies aredoing their part, but a larger effort must come from the consumers.  The Environmental Protection Agencymust employ standards for all recycling companies, otherwise the use ofCreative Recycling Solutions ideals will only make a dent in the large surfaceof the recycling problem.  Programslike the California Electronics Waste Program will go to waste, unlessawareness is brought to the attention of the public, that certain companies arenot in compliance.

     So when you get thatnew computer, with the shiny new case, and the latest operating, think a littlebit more about where your old computer will be sent.  Be bold, and help the environmental process along. I know Idon’t want the responsibility of a kid in China having lung defects because Ididn’t dispose of my computer properly, or because I didn’t take a stand whereit counts. Do you?

Forconsumers who want information on how to create change, go toempowerthyslef.com, and find out how to make a difference.

MLAREFERENCES

1. Carroll, Carroll. High Tech Trash. National Geographic Magazine. Jan. 2008. P. 67-74.

2. Wikipedia. Basel Convention 1989: BB Amendment. Wikipedia. 1989.

      http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basel_Convention#Basel_Ban_Amendment

3. Endoctrineweb.com. How Your Thyroid Works. Norman Endocrine Surgery  Clinic. 1997-2005. http://www.endocrineweb.com/thyfunction.html

4. Wooddell, David. III Effects of E-Waste. National Geographic.

Feb 2008 http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/geopedia/EWaste#Ill%20Effects%20of%20E-Waste

5. Basel Action Network (BAN). Hall of Shame. Basel Action Network. 2008. http://ban.org/main/hall_of_shame.html

6. Greenpeace. Where does E-waste end up? Greenpeace. 2008

http://www.greenpeace.org/international/campaigns/toxics/electronics/where-does-e-waste-end-up

7. Creating Recycling Systems. About Creative Recycling Systems. Creative Recycling. 1994-2008. http://www.crserecycling.com/main.php?p=about

8. Global NIS. About Us. Global NIS. 2008. http://www.globalnis.net/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=50&Itemid=97

     I laid belly down against the cold gravelbed, arms akimbo, sweat pouring down my forehead as I looked at Johnny to say“Give me a kick when you know the train is leaving. I am brokenly tired.” Henodded so as not to arouse the suspicion of the railroad bull, who was lessthan ten feet away. I try to sleep, even though my heart is racing like arabbit across an open field, the hounds chasing after him, planning to tear hisguts out of the tender flesh that surrounds the fragile body. I feel this waybecause the bull, a policeman that is hired by the railroad company to makesure everything is within the law of the rail, is a few cars away. If we arecaught, he will beat us with a metal pipe that he finds in a scrap metal yard,as he screams at us to keep off the tracks, or the next time he’ll kill us. Hisdog will be tearing out jeans, as it rips into our flesh with his razor sharpteeth.

     The train ride to Arizona came at the lastminute, after Johnny had heard from Boston (one of the old cronies that hungout at the Promenade) that the peyote would be ripe for the picking this timeof the year. His plan was for us to catch the seven twenty bus out to UnionStation at ten fourty- five Pre-Menstrual, and find out which train left forTucson. We would catch it out, and just before we arrived at Tucson, we wouldjump off in the wilderness of the desert, where no one would be able to followus. The whole point of an inebriated journey is to just get lost.

     Johnny was ecstatic, but I was really justlooking forward to the half gallon of Bicardi Silver that was giving my back acomfortable chill. I put it safely between a pile of clothes and other essentialsI would need for the long ride through the night. I longed to be on the train,bottle to lips, as we waged through the desert heat, singing our heads off ofold rock n’ roll songs. Even in the middle of winter, desert days still allowedt-shirts and shorts to run freewheeled.

     I felt the kick, and we slid out fromunder the immobile car. We rapidly jumped to our quiet feet, trying our bestnot to give off any noise to the bull, who was standing – back faced to us –yammering away on his walkie-talkie. He didn’t even budge when we ran off.Sometimes you get lucky with a decrepit old bull.

     Bolting after a train that is onlyincreasing in speed is no easy task, especially when you have a seventy poundtramping pack strapped to your back. Johnny raced ahead of me, and tossed hispack onto the flat bed of the car, as he said in a still small voice “Move yourfucking ass!” I got close enough to toss my bag into the car, Johnny catchingit without even the slightest sign of fatigue. If he hadn’t of caught it, Iwould have been screwed, and would have made it back to the pit that exists inMalibu.

     Tired after only a few minutes of running,I felt the super human strength that comes after running past the breakingpoint, and with the strength of a cheetah, I lunged myself onto the flatbed ofthe car, just barely making enough of a leap to get half of my body in. Johnnypulled me in the rest of the way. We made it, and without giving the slightestinkling to the bull that there were two transients on his rail. I have knownmany others who were caught, and suffered the tutelage of the bull.

     My friend Eric was one of them. He wasriding from Tucson to Boulder one summer, and was pulled off of a rolling trainby an angry bull. “You tried to run like a rabbit, now you’re going to looklike one,” the bull said as he beat all but Eric’s front teeth out. He drinksall of his food these days. The medical expenses that were supposed to comefrom his tours in the military wouldn’t cover the replacement of his old teethfor old ones, a tough break for a soldier that served in Iraqi more than fouryears, for a country that he loved.

     At eighteen years old I was already on myway to having train adventures of extreme magnitude, grateful to be swigging ona bottle of booze, and laughing at my friends who were sitting at home,preparing themselves for the American dream that was already planned out forthem, whether they knew it or not. I kicked back on my sleeping bag, as Johnnyset up the primus stove for dinner, while describing to me when he lost hisvirginity to his stepsister Simone. I always thought it was creepy, but healways had a funny way of bringing you over to his side, making you believe, ifonly for a moment, that what he was doing was right. Even when we first startedusing heroin on the weekends, heconvinced me that it was a good idea.

     I scribbled primitive drawings into mysketchbook, flashlight protruding from my mouth, not worrying about stayingwarm. The gin which was in a consistent up down flow towards my lips was doingme just fine. I sat on the tattered sleeping bag, which had been handed downthrough the generations. My great-grandfather may have even brought it over onthe boat from England when he first came to this great land, but I’m not sure.

     The smells that ululated through theboxcar were toxic monoxides and other resonating pollutants from the LosAngeles air. They set off my asthma, causing me to hack up phlegm of the redvariety, but I didn’t care. I was ready for anything, and after a few minutes,the hacking stopped. I guess the gin was good for a lot more than I thought, asit was giving my throat and lungs a healthy coat.

     We both sat around the primus stove ateleven thirty with every ounce of clothing on so that we wouldn’t wake up sickin the morning. These cars get extremely drafty, especially at night, so anywind was coming in whether we liked it or not. At least the stove stayed lit,as our refried beans cooked on the blue flame protruding from the metalcylinder, the half-gallon heating us from the inside out. A friend of mine toldme before I got on the train, that a friend of hers got onto a car without theproper clothing, and froze to death from frostbite.

     The primus stove finally heated up the twocans of beans, and we ate hearty, ripping insidious farts, and laughing all theway. Santa Claus had nothing on our laughter, ho, ho, ho! Johnny even managedto get a bag of herbs, so we could stay lifted the entire trip. Even when hewas completely slammed, Johnny managed to think ahead

     After a restful nights sleep, over eighthours, we were bearing closer to Tucson. Johnny was already mending from thefreezing night, and basking in the radiant sun, skulling back the half drunkenbottle of liquor, Marlboro sticking out of the side of his mouth as hescratched his dirt stained pants. “If this isn’t living youngster, than I’drather be dead,” he said as he put the bottle down in between his legs, andtook a long drag off of his cigarette, and in one swift movement, he flickedthe stoge into the air, smoke catching to the wind as he smiled his grizzlysmile.

     We both sat at the opening of the car,legs dangling as we sang fragmented versions of purple haze, dazed andconfused, and war pigs. Johnny sparked up a fat one, as I pulled the primusstove closer to me to start up on an extravagant oatmeal breakfast. We ate, andjust as we finished breakfast, a sign came lunging at us, bearing theinscription:

                                                WELCOMETUCSON

                                                       CITYLIMITS

     Quickly, we gathered up all the gear, and drove it intoour sacks. Jumping off  the trainalmost broke my ankle in half, but luckily my mom had always told me that milkhelped build strong bones from a young age. I still believe it to be true, andupon checking my ankle, everything was fine.

     When I turned around, Johnny disappeared.I turned again, and the desert was gone. I woke up from the dream.

     It’s been eight years since Johnnyoverdosed, the same day that my mother threw me out of the house, with nothingbut a backpack full of clothes, and my dreams of grandeur about my destinedtravels of N, S, E, W. A hot shot of heroin at twenty-two must have done thetrick.

     The truth is, is that we never made toArizona. We never made it out of Los Angeles County. The furthest we ever gotto was the alley behind the Smart n’ Final, a box of Franzia wine to our lips,as we had talks about the trips we were going to take. We even made lists of all the gear we would need on the blanksides of the boxes of wine we drank from. But somehow, they were just out ofour reach. The fizzy lifting’s of life had us in it’s grip.

     The last time that I saw Johnny was at anRKL show at the Lush. Before the show, he shaved my head into a Mohawk, tossingback a bottle of Wild Turkey, as white riot played in the background. We gotinto the club with a couple of wristbands that a guy slid to us as he wasleaving, and we made it in without the slightest inkling of judgment from thebouncer. We drank through the whole show off of the sixty dollars that I stolefrom my mothers purse, as I snuck out of the house that afternoon.

     We left the bar so tossed that a randompunker gave us some strength as a crutch to Johnnies old beater. We both cameto in the first a.m’s, and Johnny gave me ride home. He was found dead in hisapartment the next day by his girlfriend.

     That night I had the boxcar dream, andwhen approached with writing about a memorable event in my life, I couldn’tthink of a better way to write about my dead friend. I have taken a lot ofcement looks at my life before sobriety happened to me. Hitchhiking around thecountry, dangerous rides with strangers, drunken bouts in forest, jail barsslamming behind me, and multiple friends dying from a disease that almostkilled me. These thing’s, along with the tools I have learned to live a betterlife, have held my sobriety in tact, and have allowed me to live the life thatmy friends can’t. I honor Johnny’s death, as well as thedeath of all the others, by waking up another day sober and present in thelives of my friends and family’s.