Sex, Drugs, and Environmentalists

#214, May 9, 2007

Governors say the darndest things! A former California governor, who preceded the Califonia’s first green governor (the second Governor Brown), once said that one tree looked as good as the next (or something in that neck of the woods.) But our new green (though not Green Party) governor, whose neck is as thick as a tree, *does* like to party, and though he gropes (we hope) at parties no more, and gropes for words not nearly as much as a Bush, whose lack of greenness this green guv doth amply disdain, he nonetheless has of late uttered some one line wonders. To wit: “Environmentalists were no fun…like prohibitionists at the fraternity party.”

I never attended fraternity parties at UCSB. The frat houses were too far from the waves and one need never leave Del Playa Street (translation “the playah”) for parties. Del Playa was where I was introduced to dancin’ in the street and sleepin’ on a slab (comfort courtesy of Southern Comfort). Ah beloved Ah-nold’s comments cut me like a brush-cutter, my eyes seeing red until I read on. He said bodybuilding used to be for weirdos, but then it became sexy. The same is becoming true about being green, he said.

You can’t tell from my photo here, but I’m not exactly Charles Atlas or Harry Hercules. I have what I call the enviro-weenie physique, perhaps a result of wanting to minimize my ecological pec-print. Put it this way: in the event of famine-induced cannibalism, I won’t be at the top of the menu (as in men you would like to catch up with for dinner, with enough ketsup.) So when I read that the leader of our State states that being green is sexy, I thought: wait ‘til the ladies lay their eyes on this column—on all my columns! (at www.bruce-hagen.com/columns).

Shoot, I’ve known environmentalism was sexy since way before Maria fell for Mr. S. You’ve heard the term “outdoor lover”? A clever dual meaning there is there! Love of nature and love in nature go, ahem, hand in hand. Find a secluded spot in the warm shallows of a backcountry creek. Or tie your bowline to a riverbank willow, let the murmuring current carry your raft, you and your partner out into the gently rocking and rolling moonlit waters.

So Arnold’s idea of sexy is a Hummer (H2) on corn oil? I’ll humor him, if that’s the price for putting an eco-Republican in the Bush’s face. But back in high school, we had a naughty comment about the relationship between “muscle car” owners and their “muscles.” And to those off-road v-hickey enthusiasts who feel they must de-flower a virgin landscape once a month to maintain their manhood, I ask: what *is* drivin’ you to be pokin’ your machine into the desert’s deserted nooks and crannies?

Okay, I know it’s fun to floor it and roar it, feel the Gs --I was once a teenage leadfoot, addicted to leaded petrol. Let’s take a hint from our Green Gov. His 1990 film “Total Recall” is about using technology to plant memories into your mind – in effect, make your dreams feel real. Why not leave the wilderness for the wild things and their wild thing, and let the roar on the floor take place in the quiet comfort of the Rekall Salon (like the arcade scene in the Tom Cruise film “Minority Report”)

Too weird? Here’s an alternative, one we could pioneer at Petaluma’s sprint car speedway: solar-charged battery electric cars with mega-torque motors– zero to sixty in get-out-of-town three seconds… and in near silence. The fans bring headphones or ear-buds, and rent a small radio receiver. Each car has a GPS/processor chip that streams engine rpm and location stats to the track computer, which instantly integrates all vehicle data and translates that into traditional sprint car sonics, complete with surround-sound directionality and Doppler shifting. That signal is beamed the audience. In the grandstands you see, and hear, speed on steroids. At the nearby library playground, you hear the children at play, the wind in the leaves, and the soft laughter of lovers on a park bench. Now *that’s* sexy!