On the gas cap: ABLE TO BURN GASOLINE AND ETHANOL. On the hood: NEW TECHNOLOGIES IMPROVE GAS MILEAGE 25%.
That was the one that killed me. New technologies improve gas mileage 25%. I couldnât get over that. Ofcourse, being an MPG freak, I happen to know that the Chevy Avalanche gets an estimated 14 mpg, which means if you bought one and drove it around, it would actually get 10. Which means that a 25 percent increase would get it up to 12.5 miles per gallon. Which is⦠ridiculous!
I had a bit of a moment there, standing in front of the Chevy Avalanche. Iâve heard people say the government is corrupt or the oil companies are evil or whatever. I never listened. I never believed stuff like that. I figured somewhere, in some lab, there were scientists from the car companies seriously trying to improve gas mileage, or create cleaner emissions, or develop an electric car or a hybrid or whatever. But as I stood there, looking at this monstrosity and its signs about âfree-rolling tires,â I thought, What if they arenât doing anything? What if they really donât care?
I looked at the people standing around me. A dad was showing his kid the gleaming hubcaps on the âgreenâ Chevy Avalanche. Other people were oohing and ahhhing over the âgreenâ chrome exhaust pipes. And I thought: Why would they bother doing anything, if people believe this crap?
On the ride home, I told Jessica about the Chevy Avalanche. She thought it was funny that they were trying to pass off a luxury truck as âgreen.â But she doesnât take any of this stuff as seriously as I do. She and her dad were laughing about the dancing robots. I ended up sitting in silence, lost in my own thoughts.
March 5
Gabe wants me to ask out Lucy Branch. He thinks I need a girlfriend. Heâs been reminding me how popular I was when I was with Sadie. People knew me and talked to me. I did stuff and went places. Now, he says, all I do is sulk and stay up too late and scribble in my notebooks until midnight at Shariâs. This is true, but I reminded him that Karl Marx wrote his manifesto in the library, surrounded by bums and weirdos. He thinks thatâs great but that unless I want to become one of those bums or weirdos, I need to hang out with some actual people.
Iâm thinking about it. The truth is, I have never asked someone out on a Classic American Date. Sadie and I never did that. We didnât have to. Also, I am not sure Lucy is right for me. Unfortunately, I may not have any other options. Because I have cut holes in my sweater and have been seen reading books in the cafeteria, I have declared myself to be some sort of fringe, radical, intellectual type. Now I must face the consequences.
In the meantime, I walk around my neighborhood at night and think about population. That is the key to all our problems. People ask, âWhat can I do to help the environment?â Answer: not exist. Nothing would be better for the planet than us not being on it. We have spread over the earth like a great rash, like an infestationof killer insects. We annihilate every living thing in our path, devour resources, rip up the earth to get the oil and the gold and whatever other crap we think we need. We have shown no mercy to animals, plant life, forests, oceans. We have even destroyed segments of our own species, the ones too gentle to resist our most brutal impulses. We have ravaged the planet with our insane lust and greed, everywhere leaving behind horrendous pollution, toxic waste, and lethal contamination. We have shat in our own soup bowl. And now we are trying to eat around it.
Gabe is right. I donât look so good. I am pale and I have acne. That is common for people my age. I am an adolescent. I am becoming a âman.â In some cultures, a seventeen-year-old is considered a man already. In our culture, I am considered a child. I do not feel like a child. I look at myself in the mirror and I want
That was the one that killed me. New technologies improve gas mileage 25%. I couldnât get over that. Ofcourse, being an MPG freak, I happen to know that the Chevy Avalanche gets an estimated 14 mpg, which means if you bought one and drove it around, it would actually get 10. Which means that a 25 percent increase would get it up to 12.5 miles per gallon. Which is⦠ridiculous!
I had a bit of a moment there, standing in front of the Chevy Avalanche. Iâve heard people say the government is corrupt or the oil companies are evil or whatever. I never listened. I never believed stuff like that. I figured somewhere, in some lab, there were scientists from the car companies seriously trying to improve gas mileage, or create cleaner emissions, or develop an electric car or a hybrid or whatever. But as I stood there, looking at this monstrosity and its signs about âfree-rolling tires,â I thought, What if they arenât doing anything? What if they really donât care?
I looked at the people standing around me. A dad was showing his kid the gleaming hubcaps on the âgreenâ Chevy Avalanche. Other people were oohing and ahhhing over the âgreenâ chrome exhaust pipes. And I thought: Why would they bother doing anything, if people believe this crap?
On the ride home, I told Jessica about the Chevy Avalanche. She thought it was funny that they were trying to pass off a luxury truck as âgreen.â But she doesnât take any of this stuff as seriously as I do. She and her dad were laughing about the dancing robots. I ended up sitting in silence, lost in my own thoughts.
March 5
Gabe wants me to ask out Lucy Branch. He thinks I need a girlfriend. Heâs been reminding me how popular I was when I was with Sadie. People knew me and talked to me. I did stuff and went places. Now, he says, all I do is sulk and stay up too late and scribble in my notebooks until midnight at Shariâs. This is true, but I reminded him that Karl Marx wrote his manifesto in the library, surrounded by bums and weirdos. He thinks thatâs great but that unless I want to become one of those bums or weirdos, I need to hang out with some actual people.
Iâm thinking about it. The truth is, I have never asked someone out on a Classic American Date. Sadie and I never did that. We didnât have to. Also, I am not sure Lucy is right for me. Unfortunately, I may not have any other options. Because I have cut holes in my sweater and have been seen reading books in the cafeteria, I have declared myself to be some sort of fringe, radical, intellectual type. Now I must face the consequences.
In the meantime, I walk around my neighborhood at night and think about population. That is the key to all our problems. People ask, âWhat can I do to help the environment?â Answer: not exist. Nothing would be better for the planet than us not being on it. We have spread over the earth like a great rash, like an infestationof killer insects. We annihilate every living thing in our path, devour resources, rip up the earth to get the oil and the gold and whatever other crap we think we need. We have shown no mercy to animals, plant life, forests, oceans. We have even destroyed segments of our own species, the ones too gentle to resist our most brutal impulses. We have ravaged the planet with our insane lust and greed, everywhere leaving behind horrendous pollution, toxic waste, and lethal contamination. We have shat in our own soup bowl. And now we are trying to eat around it.
Gabe is right. I donât look so good. I am pale and I have acne. That is common for people my age. I am an adolescent. I am becoming a âman.â In some cultures, a seventeen-year-old is considered a man already. In our culture, I am considered a child. I do not feel like a child. I look at myself in the mirror and I want
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