I’ve finally given away my old Saab
, which I didn’t drive for so long (I live downtown so I can bike everywhere, everyday) that its battery died. I got sick of paying the insurance, so I gave it to a friend who needed it (selling it on craigslist would have taken time, and I’ve got to sell ads to stay alive and pay back my staff and go to press in two weeks on the next issssh of elephant journal).
But every day I see folks tossing out old fence, or big beautiful cut-down old trees, or furniture they bought only a six months ago at Tarzhay…and I think, jeez, I could make stuff outta that. A bike shelter. A fence for my poochy, Redford. A coffee table. So I think to my self, self, I oughta get a pickup so I can, well, pick up all that old stuff. What I don’t need I can give to others, or drop at my local ReSource (amazing place that’s literally saving scraped houses and all their innards from landfill and offering them cheapo to folks who want a cool vintage sink or marble for bathroom or lumber for new deck or windows or tile or…). But I don’t want to become part of the supply and demand vicious cycle by buying a new truck. So I look to buy an old truck off craigslist, which is cooler and cheaper (only $2,500, about), anyways. But then I think new trucks might be cleaner, have better mileage, safer AC (AC in old vehicles is bad, so hopefully I can find a truck without it).
Old truck or new truck? Or no truck at all? Maybe I oughta join Boulder Carshare, they got a little truck. Or I could just rent a (green!) truck once every while, whenever I needed it, probably the cheapest option of all. And then the rest of the time it’s just me and my Electra Amsterdam, which is all I need 99% of the time, anyways.
Check out the Xebra, which my contractor neighbor bought for his crew:
hot on elephant
July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. How to Love a Woman who Scares You. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. I Still Think of You. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD. How My Sister’s Death Transformed my Self-Perception.