Every Earth Day, I gripe. About the hypocrisy. About how far we still have to go, we clever monkeys. About the strange business Going Green has become.
Sure, I'm opinionated. Doesn't make me any less right than some of my fellow monkeys who've tried to steer this spaceship Earth. In a world where credentials often seem to matter more than common sense, others more...sensible than I regularly are discounted. No expert, merely opinionated me.
But here's the thing no more vocal semi-evolved simian can ever take from me: this is my world — and I've been doing my caring bit for it long enough that I've grown possessive about the place — and don't feel like shutting up about it.
Just wrapping up, that Summit o'the Americas. Another Must Get Together. Another pack jetting to essential rendezevous...to discuss what could've been discussed as easily, more greenly, the marketing term, via teleconference. I'm not forgetting the supporting entourage jetting along with them. And the jetset media. Charging-up battery packs for powering all those cameras, laptops, and satellite phones. Imagine the generating stations working overtime. Extra tiki torches smoking the beaches for all those extra guests. You see, it's...Port o'Spain, Trinidad. Sun, sand, sea.
Funny...no, not really...that these summits aren't as frequent in the dreary cold north. Meeting halfway...was that the idea?
Trade...or Free Trade...or Protectionism...whatever their word o'the day.
Another giant's dirty footprints stamped deeply in Caribbean sands. Talking heads burbling on...like the sea shhhussshhhing back down the beach.
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