Floatable Flushables

One day when I was about 11 years old, my mother and sister cornered me in my bedroom, handed me a little booklet, and said, “Read this.”

“If you have any questions,” said my mother, tossing her head back as she glided out of the room, “ask your sister.”

The booklet was entitled “You’re a Young Lady Now,” and in a few short minutes of reading I was transported from the innocence of youth to abject fear of what, it appeared, would be a rather troublesome and technically challenging womanhood.

Oh, I had questions. This was, of course, the ‘70s, and at that time, the products that were available for girls entering womanhood mostly involved a complicated system of straps, belts, hinges, hoists, and winches, all of which hinted at the possibility that hydraulic lifts and a healthy supply of duct tape might be involved in daintily maintaining one’s dignity.

The reason I bring up my personal trauma is this: one of the first things I learned, before I even really needed to know it, was that most of this stuff was not meant to be disposed of down the toilet. It was to be delicately wrapped, and gently placed into the nearest trash receptacle, in a most demure and ladylike way.

Clearly, this is a message that bears repeating. Especially here. And especially now. I mean, now that Haligonians know that the screens are off and the solids that are going down the drains are ending up directly in the harbour again – can we really complain about some of these “floatables,” when we’re the ones doing the flushing?

I really think it’s up to us to think a little harder about what’s appropriate, and what’s inappropriate to flush – whether our sewage is being “screened” or not.

But the products I’m trying to discreetly refer to – OK, sanitary napkins and tampon applicators – may just be the tip of the iceberg when it comes to inappropriate flushing habits, and not just in our little ‘burg.

A UK website devoted to raising awareness about “Sewage Related Debris” claims that “over half the population admitted to flushing items down the toilet instead of putting them in the bin last year.”

Whether the stats would be comparable over here, I can’t say, but I think it’s fair to use this British survey as an example. And the site does offer some interesting insight into people’s reasons for tossing their trash in the toilet. It says, “17% of people are embarrassed about putting things like sanitary products and condoms in a bin, hygiene was an issue for 47% of people, 22% are concerned about the smell of 'messy' items such as (diapers).” But interestingly, most said they don’t feel guilty about their flushing habits and just see it as a convenient way to dispose of difficult items.

Convenience now, floatables later. Some of those frequently-inappropriately-flushed items included: sanitary products (including backing strips), cigarette butts, cotton balls, facial cleansing wipes, band-aids, medicines, toilet paper tubes, and string.

Less frequent, but more bizarre, items included bandages, polystyrene, plastic cups, incontinence pads, fast food containers, razor blades, colostomy bags, cloth, rope, metal, foam/sponge, glass, and pieces of wood.

I would submit that all of those things are also inappropriate to flush into our delightful harbour, although part of me thinks that if people are flushing glass, wood, and rope and getting away with it, that’s kind of impressive. But the other part of me still wants to smack people like that upside the head.

But, no, I wouldn’t - because that that would obviously be terribly unladylike.

I Wrote a Fridge Magnet!

I wrote this slogan and sold it to an American company (Ephemera) that sells kitschy and sarcastic buttons, mugs and magnets.



Perhaps I should mention that I collect fridge magnets, so this is uber-exciting for me.

Also, that sarcasm, is uh, a strength of mine.

Good fit, that's all I'm saying.

Crotch-Rock Curmudgeon

A good friend of mine has taken to calling me a curmudgeon. I suppose I should be offended, but part of me takes some perverse pride in the label.

I looked it up. A curmudgeon is a “bad-tempered, difficult, cantankerous person.” Synonyms include “grouch”, “crank” and “sourpuss.” And I have to admit, every time some massive new “music event” is announced for this summer in the Maritimes, all those labels apply to me.

“Virgin Festival?” Bah. “Halifax Rocks?” Puh-lease. “Bon Jovi?” You’ve got to be kidding me. As I’m sure you know, some of the “big names” coming to Moncton and Halifax this summer include AC/DC, KISS, The Tragically Hip, and, of course, Sir Paul McCartney.

I guess my main complaint is that curmudgeons of my ilk are SO not into tired crotch rock. Also, we are not fans of kitschy makeup or boys with big hair. The “hair rule” alone means that we are not likely to be fans of any of the members of Kiss (wigs count), most of the boys in Bon Jovi, or that one dude in the Tragically Hip who still has his hair.

Also, curmudgeons like me are not big on dredging up the past. Can you say “so yesterday?” Age-wise, I guess I am the demographic that most of these shows are meant to appeal to (class of ’81, go Greyhounds), but I wasn’t even into these bands back when they were real bands, and not just novelty acts. It’s like a bad dream that KISS and AC/DC keep popping up as the world draws deeper into the new millennium. When will I be free of screaming boys who elevate tongue-wagging and cheesy guitar distortion to a high art? It’s truly grade ten all over again.

Okay, sure this McCartney fellow falls into a different category, and apparently he was once in some band that made girls scream a lot and occasionally faint (way before my time), but the curmudgeon in me feels the need to remind you that, since, oh, 1970 or so, he hasn’t really written a decent piece of music. Remember “Silly Love Songs?” I totally rest my case.

And it’s not just an aversion to re-living my ill-spent youth that will keep me away from all these shows. Simply on principle, we curmudgeons are not fans of large crowds. We are, after all, probably all control freaks, and big groups are notoriously hard to control. We like to have easy access to food and drink. And we are very fussy about our toilets. Curmudgeons do not like porta-potties. Lining up for hours only to suffer the filthy indignities left by the thousands who have gone before us qualifies for the list of “things curmudgeons enjoy less than a hot poker in the eye.”

And although we are not particularly athletic, curmudgeons still find it kind of painful to witness the mess that concerts on the Halifax Common leave behind. Must the fans’ love of the Beatles override their love of the baseball?

We’re picky, we curmudgeons. By definition, hard to please. Still, I think we could be placated if the promoters in this region would simply book some shows that had a bit of appeal to a more eclectic audience than just perpetual adolescents. Maybe they could even bring in some “new” music – you know, bands that have formed within the last decade – so the rest of us could enjoy a bit of music without having to be quite so crotchety all the time.