1200 Limos...Now There's a Number

So...the Copenhagen Summit's one for the history books, is it? Should really edit that line, insert here that So. Adding a question mark, naturally.

Same regarding their zero-hour agreement of sorts before parting ways. About as binding as Kyoto was. Sooo? I am forcing a smile, really.

1200 limos — oooh, there's a number!

Usually these summits, as they call them, produce at the end a group photo, grinners and growlers wearing something colourful, like a holiday snap. Media photo-op and a souvenir: as much for them as us, watching them — some of us even waiting on them. The eye-popper of 1200 limos will be how I'll remember that august gathering. That most recent august et cetera. 1200 limos. Cyclist-and-Public-Transit friendly Copenhagen hadn't enough limos of her own for ferrying the august et cetera about their august work: limos had to be got in from Sweden and Germany; I imagine driven in, or onboard fragrant diesel transports.

And the lake of jet fuel: who could not see that? Globe-trekkin' jetsetters, their entourage, and accompanying media, they gotta burn that jet fuel. Perhaps an exaggeration, there. Perhaps not a lake. Perhaps I'm imagining just a bit too imaginatively, there. Just as I've been imagining too, too long now that all this getting-together could be managed best via this teleconferencing I've heard has made massive techno-leaps since soup-tin and string. Most greenly, these summiteers could summit, via the blessed phone. And no need at all then for a promised forest in carbon offsets every time they yearn for another get-together someplace exotic.

But they do love their buzzwords, eh? As much as they clearly love to talk. And meet, evidently. Canada, too. We have our own career summiteers. And entourage. And hypocrisy.

They're as a group mildly entertaining. They're hardly guides. I believe I shall now go stomp down some soup tins: that always puts me in a lighter mood.