Monday, January 19, 2009


I just found a slip of paper inside a book I'm tossing in my grand get-rid-of-everything fit (The Temple of My Familiar, a lovely book but a far cry from The Color Purple)--my induction into Greenpeace.

Well-meaning college students canvass for Greenpeace in New York, bombarding young professionals on the sidewalk during lunch hour. One day--July 23, 2001, to be exact--one of them caught me at the harmonic convergence of feeling financially secure, consumerist-guilty, and whimsical, and I joined. Fifteen dollars a month until I say nay. I've considered saying nay several times--I get so much damn mail from them that I can't help but think that my membership is actually hurting the environment more than my $180 a year is helping--but what the hell, good works and all.

Anyway, apparently at one time I held the e-mail address toxicartemis at So any mocking I've done of pained gothy girls should be null and void, because nothing cries out I AM SO IN PAIN PLEASE SAVE ME like an e-mail address containing the word "toxic."

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