As some of you may or may not know, this is the Château Nîce blog (well, all of you should know this, if you can read, and if you
can't read, then you are quite possibly a squirrel who accidently tripped on the computer keyboard with your eager rodent paws, and navigated to our web page while searching for autumn's bounty of stray acorns or nuts, and so I salute you, Mr. Squirrel, and good luck come the frost!). And being a Château Nîce blogger comes with a few expectations. For example, our basic mandate on this site is to: 1) kick some blog butt, 2) rock the competition's socks off; 3) all the while maintaining a veneer of nîceness. The nîceness is crucial; in fact some would call it fundamental, though I maintain it is nothing more and nothing less than pivotal. But I just bought a thesaurus, so yes I am biased.
Now, being 'nîce' in the face of all this competition (see expectation 2, regarding competition and the need to 'remove' its 'socks' by acts of 'rocking') is not so easy. For example, I must tell you right now that our friends (enemies) over at
Freedom is a Cupcake are absolute loons, destined for the silly-house, flophouse, rehab clinic or any number of maximum-security institutions. Now, this does not mean we don't love FIAC. In fact, we
don't love FIAC at all, but "this" doesn't mean we don't. Because the three denizens of Le Château de Salade Nîcoise (as we are wont to call our beloved abode) are sticklers for nîceness, and also sticklers for the orthographicological insubstantiability of demonstrative pronouns ("this" and "that" being two exemplary examples), we can get away with the above silliness. Life is so much nîcer that way, yes?
But I digress. What I want to talk aboot is a little thing I like to call
"wet waste."
That's right,
"wet waste" is causing a right stir around The Grove these days, and for reasons aplenty. Allow me to digress:
Throughout the 1980s and 90s, residents of The Grove - a societally conscientious lot if there ever was one - were barely kept busy recycling their dry waste, semi-arid waste, non-gelationous waste and also somewhat foamy waste. This two-bit program of "not-so-wet"-waste recycling was part of the city of Toronto's half-hearted attempts at ecological responsibility, and it was a slap in the face of serious environmentalism, it was. Wet (known as "gooey" or "smelly") waste was kept off the radar for reasons both political and, more important, olfactorial.
The simple truth is that wet waste stinks to high heavens, and if you collect enough rotten egg shells, banana peels, coffee grinds, and used tampons in the same plastic bag for over a week, you are going to have a bit of a conundrum on your hands, regarding which members of the house should have to remove said waste out of doors to the large green plastic bins that the city workers then remove wearing their large plastic anti-radiation suits (this last measure necessated mostly by the tampons). Forget the meagre kitchen space of Château Nîce - your average plastic cylinder of wet waste stinks of enough malignant poopiness to evacuate the entire Grove neighbourhood in the middle of GroveToberFest (and for more about GroveToberFest, see next week's post titled "GroveToberFest: Château Boredom, or Château Bonanza?")! Clearly both storage and removal of wet waste present a true pickle of a dilemma, upon whose horns the denizens of Château Nîce are destined to be utterly stuck, if an answer does not appear.
Well, what is the solution to this stinky problem, you ask rhetorically?
Answer: a little fellow I like to call
"Captain Wet Waste."
Captain Wet Waste, while currently a mere figment of my imagination, could one day be a key player in the Château Nîce environmental dynamic, and could solve all our waste removal issues. Sounds too good to be true? Well, allow me one last extrapolation!
Imagine, if you will, a house in the Grove where, each successive week, a different house member was nominated to
'become' Captain Wet Waste. That is, someone, each different week, would have to take the plastic wet waste baggie from out underneath the kitchen sink, back out the door and behind the garage where the green bins are kept. Now, further imagine that the above mentioned house is
actually Château Nîce (you saw it coming didn't you!). Basically, the way the algorithm boils down is that we, the proprietors of Château Nîce (also, the authors of this blog, all of whom are conscientious enviromentophiles) would "take turns", "sharing the load"as it were. One week,
I could do the wet-waste-removal, then the next someone else could do it, and so on and so forth, until all the Grove were in thralls at Château Nîce's shining example of communitarian inter-housemate wet-waste-removal mechanisms. Sounds too good to be true? Actually, it is easier than the naysayers think (also easier than they say-nay).
Now before you rush to judgment, let that idea sit in a plastic bag for a week and begin to rot and decompose, and then tell me what you think. It's a lil something I call Captain Wet Waste: don't let the dream die.
That is all for now. I, Monsieur Bonhomme, aka the Week One "Captain Wet Waste", salute you all, and wish all our readers a happy Thanksgiving!
