Rest, post-Green Fest

Everything's coming up way too green this month, and I can't keep up. There were round-the-block lines outside the Grist party Friday night, then so many organic raspberry vodkas leading to logorrhea--and then spotting Siel (aka GreenLAGirl), David (Grist), and other nice sustainadrinkers.

I shared a taxi to the Common Vision party at Cellspace, partied up by an old school crowd--the type deemed too dredful by hesitant, would-be environmentalists these days. It was a pretty hardcore bunch, and I belonged to the combed-hair minority. Ah, ultragreen sights and scents (someone has to keep incense vendors fed). But I admit, even in my double-breasted jacket, I got into it during the nonprofit's film about its biofuel bus tour. They planted 1,000 trees in 20 cities with helping hands from schoolchildren more eager than most of us to let loose with the big drums. Imagine looking left to right and seeing reverential gazes all down the line. Been there, done...time to go.

Next, the d7tv launch party (go watch Yoga Girl, Raw pumpkin slaw, and web 2.0 party crashing) kept me from sleeping much. Saturday and Sunday were merciless--blame the Green Festival. Saturday night, the Sustainlane party at the W Hotel mixed bare feet and strappy heels, tie-dyes and neckties. Watch above (or click here) for one man's blissful toe-jamming session.

The Raging Grannies rocked the Green Fest on Sunday. Their getup is equal parts Susan B. Anthony and Medea Benjamin, bridging the centuries with a lady punk flair: straw hats brimming with flowers and political buttons, magenta and cotton-candy hues, yellow police caution strips too. They held those MOMS (Make our Milk Safe) "Target: Phase Out PVC" signs. Looks like rocket fuel and toxic flame retardants are tasteless in breast milk. I was prepping my camera when a 50something man next to me wondered aloud about filming them: "Is it worth it? Is it worth it?" Judge yourself--here's my micro-movie (or below).

As we were rushed out of the exhibition hall to return our Zipcar in time, blurring past the LED lightbulbs, chopstick colanders, Bidematic, and Oeko-Tek-certified latex beds, I said hey to Summer of BTC Elements--who was still selling a cute cashmere sweater and was one of the few, unwilting souls still holding down a booth past 6pm. 

It's Monday Tuesday already and my solar cells are sapped, so I couldn't hang around after work to hear Darryl Hannah talk about food at the Commonwealth Club or to crash the Zipcar party down the street at 111 Minna (same watering hole for Grist, il y a 3 nights). Good night~