When I fly to New Orleans tomorrow, connecting through Dallas, to kick off the North American Tour, I will take my 56th and 57th flight of 2012.
I’ve been counting.
Never mind what all that flying does to the atmosphere. I wonder what all that flying does to one’s blood. Skin. or brain. At 30 thousand feet, one is more exposed to cosmic radiation than those on the ground. And the body scans one endures in security emit as much radiation as being in the air for 3 minutes. I’m no scientist, but I deduce this may be why I think look hot in an airplane bathroom mirror; which, similarly to how I sometimes feel at 2am, is an inconvenient time and place to feel the most confident.
Being a frequent flyer has made me more aware of my carbon footprint. Never mind my solar house, electric car, ban of plastics and local/organic food fetish. I travel through the air enough to make all those other efforts moot. I may look green on paper, but if carbon had a prom, I’d be carbon king.
So, inspired to offset and sequester carbon in the atmosphere, I came up with this little calculation to give back.
For every domestic flight, I plant one tree.
For every international flight, I plant five.
TIMES the amount of people I’m traveling with, which can been as many as 23 people on some legs.
Based on this modest carbon sequestering calculation and the number of flights I’ve made this year, times the entourage, I owe the planet 2425 trees to offset my time in the sky.
So far I’ve planted 33.
2392 more to go. That is, until I fly again, and again and again, which will keep the number increasing…
Why Trees? See the quick video below.
At home in California I’ve teamed up with a local non-profit “Stand For Sam” whose mission it is to reforest and restore the lungs of the Earth. With their help I funded the planting of 27 Oaks at the new High Tech High School in San Marcos, CA - AND set up a few plantings we’ll be doing in various parts of the country on this summer’s tour.
We also planted a Meyer Lemon in our backyard. An avocado tree in Singapore. And was recently gifted 4 fruit trees for my birthday. Thank you Warner Music & Cyndi Lauper! (Wink Wink Gregory Lewis, Ross and Ashley!) Stay tuned for pictures.
We’re off to a great start and still have a long way to go. You’ll be able to help too at the shows. Look for the info about tweeting and texting to support the planting of trees thanks to our partners at Reverb and Green The World. It’s never been easier to be green.
That being said. We’ll have water refill stations at our concerts so you won’t have to buy the expensive plastic stuff. Stay tuned to find out more about that.
Time to fly…
A man I know was arrested last week after demonstrating in front of the white house, locked in a steel cage with 3 industrial hemp plants. David Bronner, maker of Bronner’s Magic Soap, the best soap ever, was trying to get the attention of the US government to allow US farmers to grow industrial hemp. Hemp, a wild weed when free to grow, is one of earths most useful and renewable resources. Hemp oil can be used for soap, which Bronner’s family has been magically producing for more than 100 years. Hemp seeds can also be eaten for an excellent source of protein. I eat it everyday in fact. And newsflash, it doesn’t get you high. It is merely a relative of Mary Jane, BUT, unfotunately is still considered the same plant by the US Government. Bronner was arrested for possession of 3 industrial hemp plants. So silly.
Brief history: during the industrial revolution, new synthetic fibers and fabrics such as nylon, along with oil and gas saw hemp as a fierce competitor. Since hemp can be broken down and used for paper, fabric, food and/or ethanol, a renewable bio-fuel, the oil and chemical companies along with paper moguls lobbied Washington to take hemp off the market, passing the blame onto Mary Jane, calling hemp a dangerous drug. And they succeeded.
That’s too bad say I. “Hemp is of first necessity to the wealth & protection of the country,” said Thomas Jefferson, U.S. President.
Alcohol was prohibited for a little while for similar reasons. Ethanol, often made of corn and distilled like moonshine by auto-racers, saw promise as a potential fuel leader in the US. Big Oil then lobbied to ban alcohol and moonshine in order to get auto makers hooked on gasoline made from crude oil. When the industry settled on oil, the alcohol ban was lifted, and people went back to being stupid in public as opposed to hiding in speakeasies.
Wouldn’t it be nice to grow our own fuel instead of drilling it out of the beautiful Gulf of Mexico, or kill for it in wars with other countries?
“Make the most you can of the Indian Hemp seed and sow it everywhere.” said George Washington, U.S. President & General.
Both Washington and Jefferson were cultivators of hemp. Once used for barter and trade, hemp in history is the reason our money is green.
But alas, we are somewhat stupid. In this now era, renewable resources like wind, solar, bio-fuel, and hemp are just plain bad for business. Sustainability in general is bad for business. Because if our products, houses and cars were actually meant to last, we’d spend less and money wouldn’t be the illusory key to survival.
I’m no economist, but if David Bronner could source his hemp in the United States instead of Canada, wouldn’t portions of his 50 million annual income be invested back into US farmers and farmland, boosting local economies and creating jobs?
But I get it. Balancing the books in today’s market is tricky. We have so many more cars, homes, products and needs than ever before. We’re a nation of material girls hooked on cable TV and Carl’s Jr. And giving us our energy independence would mean no more cable bill. In fact, with energy independence, we’d be free of paying utility bills altogether. We could charge our cars at home on our solar systems and not have to buy gasoline. Billions and billions less dollars would circulate, which would be problematic for the US, a country already in debt.
But what about the water? With gas and electric utilities cleaned up, we could put more jobs and money into water conservation programs, and maybe even less pollution! The way I see it, water is gold and we’re overlooking it, assuming the wells are gonna flow forever. I’ll gladly pay a steep water bill if I know my money is going to sustain life, whereas a gas and electric bill is really just sustaining our favorite TV shows.
This election year, the two leading parties’ positions on just about everything couldn’t be any more bi-partisan. In almost every category, their siding for or against it, loud and clear. For instance, If you’re for supporting the rights of gays, lesbians, and transgender citizens, vote democratic. If you think abortion should be ILLEGAL – vote Republican. If you think that Millionaires and Billionaires should pay more taxes – vote Democratic. If you think corporations should be able to spend as much as they want on candidates and elections . . . and NOT have to disclose where the money comes from – vote Republican. If you think guns should be less freely available, vote democratic. If you’re against universal healthcare, vote republican. If you’re green at heart and want to see more renewable energy sources, vote democratic. If you’re for big oil companies receiving about $4 Billion in subsidies, vote republican. If you’re for the legalization of industrial hemp & marijuana. Vote democratic. It’s never been easier to vote.
And do vote. The 2000 Presidential Election was decided by only 537 votes out of a country of 300 million. Proof that every vote counts.
Love your world. Love your country. Vote hemp. After all, the US constitution is written on hemp paper. So go Rock the Vote!
“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there. It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”
I’ve been writing in my journal a lot lately, almost as if I’m writing a book for some reason. Some inner or unknown force is compelling me to write it all down. Everything. Everything as in everything I don’t say in interviews because I’m never asked. Or everything I don’t say in interviews because I don’t want to advocate that kind of behavior. I’m a popular re-run on Sesame Street and I’ve jammed with the Fresh Beat band after all, and I haven’t given up on Yo Gabba Gabba either, so it behooves me to keep it clean and wholesome in the spotlight.
But I digress. That’s not entirely why I’m writing a lot these days. I’m writing because it brings me back; snapping me out of downward spiraling spin outs of past failures; do-nothing daydreams and delusions of grandeur, instigated by months of interviews talking about myself which if not careful leads to megalomania and mental disorder; therefore, writing reminds me I’m not crazy and still full of ideas and savvy; full of grace and achievement.
Cursive calms the dialogue in one’s head, sentencing the voice to the page instead of asking each newborn phrase to take another lap, busying the mind and denying it its peace. Cursive is also the eloquent language and beautifully curled lips speaking on behalf of the subconscious. When writing, I live multiple lives; those of the past, those of a possible future, and all those happening now that I didn’t know were there until I literally let them go from my dominant hand.
I also write for knowing death I suppose. Knowing someday I’ll go; someday I’ll be forced leave this good life and all of its great pleasures behind. And should that happen suddenly, all the secrets I keep and situations I experience in my solitude will vanish with me, as well as all my bullshit or profound philosophies if I don’t write them down. In prose, poetry or song, I might just live a little longer. And then maybe the impact I have on the world will be just a wee bit stronger.
I started keeping a journal as a teenager for this very reason; death that is. I didn’t know if I’d live or die or run away or what – I was a teenager after all – and words sustained me. I’d write feverishly all the things I wanted to say to my parents but couldn’t; or I’d write to the assholes at school who’d call me a fag, push me into lockers or tail my car on my way home. I would imagine myself disappearing to another city, state or dimension, leaving behind my brave Jim Morrison inspired poetic rants as an F-you to all. That would show them! I thought. Yet I knew all talk and no action would be cowardly, like breaking up with someone over text rather than giving them the pleasure of calling you an asshole one more time to your face.
I was proud of the words I compiled back then, even though when I look back I read them as knock-off monologues from Pump Up the Volume. Regardless, the words gave me power and clarity to keep living. With ink, my secrets weren’t just in my head anymore, they were on the page – which meant at any point someone else could read them and challenge them into existence; it meant that at any point I could read them into existence, and quite possibly – make them mean something.
And with this understanding of thought to word – word to action – came the realization that I could manifest whatever life i wanted. So why hide? I wanted to wanna stick around to revel in the glory of my dreaming? Rather than running away or jumping off a cliff, I chose a higher path and became a public figure, drawing lots of attention, making lots of money, seeing the world, hanging out with artists and celebrities, dating beautiful women, and in plain site for all to see – purposefully forgetting the bully assholes who pushed me in that direction, for I knew my happiness would hurt those who wished me harm. It’s like looking your best when you run into an ex. You win.
And still, I didn’t start writing out of fear nor did I keep writing just to benefit the unspoken truths. I continued to write because everyday I’d make little discoveries about myself and/or my relationship to my environment, which is always changing. The older I got, the better life was getting and the better I was getting at life. And I didn’t want to forget where I came from or what I went through to get here. Better yet, I figured I’d want to re-live these high times when I’m 90 reading my notebooks to my grandchildren. Journals are time machines after all, if not fountains of youth, giving me hope – dissipating all fears of death, encouraging me to live it up now so at the very least I’ll have some interesting stories to share as a well-lived and perhaps pervy old man. And maybe, just maybe THIS is what compels me to draw a long paragraph. I’d never have come to it had I not used the pen to ask.
It’s said the giant oak compels the acorn to grow.
So too did a young success in his 30’s compel a teen to play guitar and make this so.
And now there’s an old man somewhere compelling me to live it up and write it down.
I look forward to thanking him in person when I get there.
I may as well start here.