GIVE ME A SACKING BREAK!

Let’s start saying that Manuel and I belong to the “granola and chancleta (flip-flops)” crowd and that we support most conservationist theories.

We live well but at the same time we are unpretentious, plain Jane, educated, professional men who are into quality and design. And we recycle.

We eat granola in simple Italian ceramic bowls and our chancletas are synthetic Versace (Donatella couldn’t care less about the materials they use to fabricate them and their incidence in the future of the planet as long as she gets enough revenue to invest in Botox) 

They are comfortable and simple in a complex way and they will be around together with the roaches after nothing is left standing.

And they can be hosed down.

Are we in the same page so far?

We do not pretend to be paupers in order to be politically correct but instead of real crocodile shoes we wear vinyl crocodile chancletas. Neither of which are well regarded nowadays.

Could it be possible that the vinyl crocodiles appeared in the planet as a mutation after years of eating the plastic cups with popcorn people who visit the Everglades distractedly keep throwing in the water?

In that case we are not infringing on any of Al Gore’s environmental protectionist suggestion but on the contrary we are patronizing a budding Miccosukee Indian Reservation industry.

In the midst of this “save the planet” frenzy several businesses which never could have had a chance years ago are mushrooming now (but only if the mushrooms are organically grown)

Let’s fathom that someone travels to Europe and finds hemp sacks from the early XIXth century that for a reason of overproduction were left behind in chests, under beds, in attics and inside aunt’s Hildegaard armoire in the house in the Black Forest.

Under the premise that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure they were transported to America where they were laundered with no sulfuric soap suds and dried under New York sunlight peppered with microscopic carbon specs and seasoned with car fumes.

They are made of linen hemp, organically grown, with no pesticides because they did not exist at that time but not because they were not necessary.

Aunt Hildegaard and Uncle Gerophlito lovingly collected all the manure their farm produced and fed the linen plants.
They washed the linen by hand in the river and wove the fabric in a wooden loom,  at night, by the light of candles made with the fat they collected from the pig they have slaughtered the previous week and of which one portion has been a predominant ingredient in the preparation of dinner.

Nice scent for a candle. I wonder why they don’t commercialize it today. Here is another idea for a home business.

Thanks to the genius and inventive of another member of the granola and chancleta crowd the hemp is transformed into chic elements of style. Bespoke pillows for sale on Etsy.

I found one that specially caught my attention and that I would use if I am ever called to decorate the new Madoff’s family carton townhouse off Madison conveniently located near a subway entrance.

This one specially portrays the dire need of pesticides in the XIXth century to keep the rats at large and avoid the darn holes.  

But it is chic, politically correct and expensive. All we need.

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