Changing the World - One Light Bulb at a Time

Great googly moogly! It's been a loooong time since I've blogged. Even then, it was a repost. Shame on me! Anyway, I'm back in school this quarter and taking a couple of online classes (God forbid I have to speak to anyone in person, right? Ask me later about the communications class I'm taking online next quarter. hahahahaha). Because they are online classes, though, there's more writing. Bliss! A current assignment in my health class (taught by Ms. Myklebust, who I find to be pretty cool - Hi! if you're reading this!) has us exploring our relationship to the environment. The last question was:

Do you think it's important to reduce your personal use of resources to reduce the impact on global resources? Explain why or why not.

 Well, I got a little carried away with my answer. If you know my blogs, you know what I mean. I start out almost every one with something like "This is going to be a little long...but worth it!" So, yeah, I got a little long-winded for a community college discussion board, so I'm posting my full answer here, putting a pared down version with a link to it in my actual discussion board, and inviting the huddled masses to experience the random places my mind goes. If you're one of those community college huddled masses, welcome! Check out the rest of my blog for more hilarity. I promise you won't be disappointed. OK, I don't promise but, if you ARE disappointed by what you read, we probably shouldn't be friends outside of our online class. Not that we are anyway but you never know. We could be sitting in a crowded coffee shop, Vivaldi playing in the background, and our eyes might meet and... then we would realize that we don't know what each other even really looks like (my profile pic for class is a waterlily for crap's sake) and we would keep drinking our coffee and ignoring each other and you would never know that you were sitting in my presence. Which might be for the best some days. I digress. What else is new.

So, my answer to the question follows. If you feel the need to go to IKEA afterward, let me know. I may even offer to drive. 

I know that many people have the attitude of “the little bit that I may do doesn’t have an impact” but I’m not one of those people. This portion of my answer is going to be a bit lengthy but come along for the ride because it will be fun!

Let’s do some basic math (it has to be basic; I’m a girl and I haven’t taken a math class since 1983!):  The estimated population for Clark County for 2012 was 438, 287. Just to make it easy, let’s just call it 438,000.  Now, the estimated household size was 2.66. I think that’s weird given the number of people I know with more than .66 kids, so let’s round that up to 3. So, if there are 438,000 people in the county, and we divide that by the average number of people in a home (3), that comes out to be 146,000 homes.

Now, let’s say those 146,000 homes each spent $6.99 on a single LED light bulb from IKEA and replaced ONE bulb in their home. If they all replaced a CFL with their LED, it would amount to 2,920,000 pounds of CO₂ emissions eliminated from the planet. If they all replaced an incandescent bulb with their single LED bulb, the savings would amount to 19,704,160 pounds of CO₂ emissions! Holy schnikeys, right? Of course, this doesn't take into account the emissions that the LED will produce but we'll get to that later.

It gets even more interesting when you remember that this is just comparing one bulb to one bulb. An LED has a life span of approximately 50,000 hours whereas an incandescent is approximately 1,200 hours and a CFL is approximately 8,000 hours. So, the emissions from one LED should actually be compared to that of about 41 incandescents or six CFLs!

So, if you’re still with me, that means that ONE LED bulb, which produces, on average, 15 pounds of CO₂ emissions during its lifetime (yes, only 15) will last you, ideally, as long as six CFLs, which will produce 210 pounds of CO₂ emissions, or 41 incandescents, which will produce 6,150 pounds of CO₂ emissions.  15 vs 210 vs 6,150. Even as a girl, I can look at that math and figure out that it’s a stunning difference.  Really, by installing one LED, you aren’t eliminating the emissions from one incandescent or CFL, you’re eliminating the emissions from 41 or six of them, respectively!

A smidge more math and then I’m done. Let’s say all these homes in the county that we’re talking about have at least got CFLs in their homes and that is what they plan on replacing. That’s an elimination of 210 pounds of CO₂ emissions per home. Multiply that by our 146,000 homes and that’s a whopping 30,660,000 pounds of CO₂  emissions!! Of course, you have to offset the emissions from the LED to get an accurate number, so let’s do that (subtract 2,190,000). That still leaves you with 28,470,000 pounds of CO₂  emissions that have been eliminated from the planet! And that’s just from our county!! From replacing just ONE lightbulb for $6.99!! AND, you got to go to IKEA!! IKEA!!!!

So, yeah, I’m not one of those people that thinks the little bit that I do doesn’t make a difference. Because, if we all do $6.99 worth, we can save emissions that are the equivalent of the annual emissions of roughly 196 entire households. And, let’s just say we eliminate 196 houses. In today’s building market, that’s just over 60 acres of land that could otherwise be left as forest or green space. You know, where trees grow.

Don’t even get me started on tree planting.

I don't know why...

 This is a blog that was originally written March 6, 2007.  Today it is being reposted for my friend Debbie, who is sick and needs a good laugh. Get well, Deb, and enjoy!!

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Sometimes, on rare occasions, I get to sleep late.  Mostly, though, I just lay there hoping for sleep to return to me.  Rarely does it.  When it does, though, and I truly am sleeping late, it's called sleeping in.  As opposed to what?  Sleeping out?  We never say that.  So, if you can't sleep out, how can you sleep in?  Maybe that's why it rarely happens for me.

Daylight savings time confuses me.  If we've been saving for all these years, shouldn't we have enough to have it not be dark anymore?  Someone's withdrawing and not telling us about it.

I just learned that I can make a clay mask  for my face out of kitty litter.  That's just gross.  I have nothing more to say about it than that.  And, of course, will the cat then be compelled to pee on me while I sleep if I use that mask?

The dictionary defines the word "set" as "a collection of articles designed for use together".  That's "articles" with an -s.  That means it plural.  More than one.  Why then, when I buy a television set, do I only get one.  Shouldn't there be at least two.  I could use another since the blasted networks have put all my shows on at the same time and on the same day now.  Honestly, they make it so hard to sit on the couch and let my arteries clog these days.

If you call something nonexistent, does that mean that before it was existent?  I've never heard anyone say that.  That's dumb.  Like chalant.  No one says that but we say nonchalant all the time.  English is stupid.  And I think it's extra stupid to have a silent B at the end of the word dumb.  That's dum.

I just saw a commercial on my television (not a set) for, quite possibly, the most retarded children's toy.  Barbie Girl.  Barbie Girl is Barbie in her younger years I guess.  Her head is just as big but the rest of her hasn't discovered the brainwashing media that will force her to begin binging and purging throughout high school and then just slip into full blown anorexia once she gets to college.  So, she's short, got a big head, and her boobs haven't developed yet.  Because of this, she doesn't come with a Ken Boy doll as her companion.  No, instead she comes with Tanner the dog.  Unfortunately, everytime you touch Tanner's tail, he poops.  Yes, you read that correctly.  He poops.  Little plastic piles of dog poo.  I'm going out to buy stock in Mattel tomorrow.  Any company that can and will make millions off of plastic dog poop has got a few more tricks up their sleeve I'm sure.  Maybe there will be a day when we do have Binge and Purge Barbie.  She'll come with two bags of McDonald's food, a box of Suzie Q's, pork rinds, Dots, a caramel apple and a Big Gulp of diet soda.  Oh, and the little globs of plastic vomit.

Anyway, Tanner poops.  Good thing Barbie Girl comes with one of those litter picker upper tong things so that she can grab it without touching it and then place it in the lavender garbage can that comes with her.  Why not be a bit more realistic and just giver her itty bitty leftover bags that her plastic newspaper came in.  We can teach the women of tomorrow how to place the bag, inside out, over their hand and arm, pick up the steaming plastic poo with said covered hand, draw the plastic bag over steaming poo and tie the bag closed.  But wait, Barbie Girl's elbow would have to be able to bend for that.

So, yes, we've made sufficient advances to give Barbie Girl a dog that poops but not elbows that bend because, as we all know, picking up dog poop with long handled tongs is much more realistic than having elbows that bend.  RE-TAR-DEDB.  With a silent B.

I think I'm done for now.  The television (not a set) is off right now so it's hard to find more stupid things to dwell on.  We're on our way out to dinner, though, to celebrate Alex's birthday.  Have you ever seen the wait staff at Red Robin when there's a birthday?  They're so chalant about it.

"The Stomach Flu" or How To Lose 4 Pounds in 7 Hours

Another blog from days gone by. But, since I just posted about the flu AND I'm presently trying to lose some weight, it seemed relevant. After re-reading it, I've decided to go lick some germ infested shopping cart handles. Because hitting my goal weight in 7-10 seems way more attractive than counting calories.

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January 19, 2007

The stomach flu blows...no pun intended. 

Last week we were preparing for Ryan's 6th birthday.  He was very excited about taking a special snack to school (Oreos and milk, yum!) and then having his birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese afterward.  We were making big plans, shopped for all the goodies for the goody bags, picked out the cake, the whole nine yards.  It was a very exciting time.  He was, after all, graduating from one whole hand to a hand plus.  We had talked about all the fabulous things that 5 had brought our way...reading, math, tying shoes, bike riding, Kindergarten, swimming, etc.  Five has been a big year for us.  And, it's our last 5.  I've said it before, 5 is magic.  There is nothing quite like 5 and, although we were sad to see it go, we were very excited for 6...all day school, taking the training wheels off, and all the other new things he will learn (hahaha  he just came into the office and asked me, "Mom, after nighttime is over and you're done sleeping, do all your calories go away and you start over?"  I wish.).

So, we're all excited about his birthday and we go to bed with visions of Chuck E. Cheese and bad pizza in our heads, when I awake to a mysterious whimper and leap from my bed to see what's the matter.  As I am making my way to the bathroom, where I expect to find Ryan trying to find his way there, too, without peeing his pants, I step in... something.  My first thought is that the cat, being as ancient as she is, has somehow not made it to the bathroom catbox in the night and has just peed on the floor.  I could only hope to be so lucky.  For, there, in the bathroom, is my baby, on the brink of turning 6, heaving his guts out.  So, now, I'm faced with the dilemma that generally only mothers deal with:  child throwing up in the toilet to console...child's puke on my feet...child's puke all over the floor in doorway blocking access to or from said room...likely chance that there is more puke somewhere else.  Which to deal with first???

I chose a combination approach.  As I'm trying to soothe him with my words, I peel my socks off (thank goodness my feet were cold when I went to bed; 100% cotton socks do a great job of absorbing as well as keeping the chunks of mostly digested fries from between my toes!) and then carefully move him to sitting on the side of the tub once he's finished.  Whew, two down.  As I'm getting him a washcloth, which I later use to clean the floor (multi-tasking!), I ask if he threw up in his bed at all or if he was able to make it almost to the bathroom.  He tells me he didn't throw up in bed.  I hear a host of demons burst into laughter at this so I assume it's worth checking out the bed, at least once I have the floor cleaned up enough that I can get there. 

Now, there are some real advantages to having laminate flooring in one's home.  Cleanup is one of them.  Soooo much easier and quicker than carpet. However...when a person, even a small, nearly 6 person, just leans forward a bit and throws up on it, it splatters to the ends of the earth.  Guh-ross and guh-narly is all I have to say about that.

Cleanup finished, I make my way into the bedroom to check on the bed. It's basically a crap shoot here because Alex is still sleeping so I can't really just turn the light on and do a thorough check.  I've got the hall light on and am trying to stay out of the beam of light that it casts in the room.  I feel the mattress.  Dry!  Ha ha, evil minions!  My young prince has been triumphant!  I grab the comforter to adjust the blankets before I bring him in to lay down again and the shrieks of glee rise around me once again.  No, he didn't throw up in his bed.  On the comforter, yes; but in the bed, no.  Heavy sigh (only after the initial "Eeeww!!!").  I clean myself up...again, and I go back in for the sleeping bag. 

I get the muffin set up on the floor of my room and return to his for the comforter.  God must have been with me on this trip because the light from His glory illuminated the other TWO places where my sweet prince had NOT been triumphant.  Once again, no, he hadn't thrown up IN bed, BUT he had thrown up on the floor next to the bed and onto a stuffed animal and a pair of his brother's shorts as well as throwing up next to the dresser on his way out of the room.  Uhhh...an hour later and I was finally finished.  20 minutes after that, we were racing to the bathroom again, thankfully, for the last time, though.

So, no school for Mr. Man on his big day.  No party.  It was a bummer.  We postponed the party to yesterday, though, and it turned out wonderfully.  We spent his birthday on the couch, looking at books and watching movies.  Maybe the kind of day we were supposed to have anyway.  Me and Mr. Man, snuggled on the couch while we moved from 5 to 6.

We've been lucky so far.  I'm the only other one in the house who has been fortunate enough to experience this stomach flu.  If I had to get it, though, I was confident in the knowledge that it would last for about an hour and a half and then I would sleep a lot and feel better.  No such luck.  Seven straight hours of being in the bathroom every 20-30 minutes will really take a lot out of you (not that you have any IN you anymore, but...).  I spent the next two days in bed, the first of which I was in a self-induced Vicodin coma, which, by the by, is not a bad way to spend a day.  I lost a total of 5 pounds; 4 of them in those first 7 hours.  I broke through the weight plateau I've been at for the last 9 months.  If I can exist on Saltines and gingerale I just may be able to keep it off.

Cold Med Warning

It's cold and flu season and I haven't written a blog in nearly a year, so I thought, "What better time to NOT write another blog but simply copy one from a million (7) years ago?"  So, here ya go! I'm not sure if the product in question is even still on the shelves. I've avoided buying it for a million (7) years. A smattering of time for the evilness that this product wrought one long ago night. In any case, enjoy the read and stay healthy, my friends!

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March 23, 2006

So, I have 2 out of my 3 children at home sick right now.  We've been battling ugly chest congestion, stuffy noses and fevers in the range of 102.2.  It's been a real treat that has me practically bathing in Lysol in hopes of not getting it myself.
 
Nights have been particularly hard since it becomes rather difficult to breathe when one is not constantly yacking up the truly heinous stuff that is invading one's lungs.  Being the good mommy that I am, I, of course, sought a solution.  Giant jars of Vicks to slather on a rag and tie around my kids' necks?  No.  An old yucky T-shirt to designate as the "Vicks Shirt" that gets coated in the stuff.  No.  Don't want to hassle with the vaporizer (plus, they sleep in two different rooms); can't use those plug-in thingy-s because the brainiac that wired our house only put outlets in the places where one would obviously have to put furniture so none are accessible enough.  No, I go the obvious, no mess, so-easy-to-use route.  I go out and purchase the little menthol patches that just stick right to your kids' chest and allows them to breathe easy all night long.  This particular product is put out by Triaminic.  The cartoon pic of the little boy on the front is so cute and he looks so happy to be able to breathe with his little patch on.  The box comes with 6 patches AND a sheet of stickers. BONUS!!

So, bedtime comes last night and I dope up my kids with the appropriate multi-function liquids and pull out the box of magic patches.  Aren't they cool, I muse to the children?  We ooh and ahh over how clever they are and how you can smell them right away.  See, they're already working!  We find all the appropriate jammies so that the patch can really emit all the soothing vapors that it can and I kiss my babies' fever-ridden foreheads and send them off to a good night's sleep.  In the morning they will be just as cute as cartoon boy on the box!  Yippee; score one for mommy!

Fast forward 3.5 hours.  My oldest comes and wakes me asking if he can take the patch off.  He's breathing OK and it's beginning to hurt.  Hurt?  Yes, it's burning and stinging.  "Yes, yes, take it off if you feel better but put it on a piece of paper or something near your bed so you can still smell it a little," I slur through my sleep.  He leaves and, as I'm drifting back into sleep, my groggy mind floats to the 4 year old who is wearing the other patch.  I conclude, through my fog, that I should get up and check to make sure he is OK, too, but I apparently fall back asleep while deciding this.  Instead, I'm awoken by said child who is in tears, standing by my bedside, begging me to take the burning thing off of him.  Yes, yes, yes, I say in a panic and shoot straight up in bed.  **Now, one would think that the burning part is the bad part.  One might be correct in this assumption but there's one more challenge ahead**  I reach out to grasp the patch that is adhered to my hairless, pink, feverish, baby skinned boy and begin to peel up the corner when he shrieks like a rabbit being skinned alive (if you've ever heard that sound before, as I have, it is NOT a sound you want to hear at any time of day, much less at around 1 something in the morning).  Oh, yes, that's right; I am, in effect, ripping an enormous band-aid off my child's chest.  My husband says, "Just rip it off!"  "Off his CHEST?" I hiss.  "I'm just kidding," replies DH.  His timing is incredible.
 
So, I peel said fire patch from my dear boy's virgin skin and then hug him close.  Good thing those patches came with a sheet of stickers.  They will come in handy tomorrow when trying to distract my children from the raw rectangular marks on their chests.  Come here, I say, as I start to lift him to my lap for a more appropriately soothing mommy cuddle.  AS I'M LIFTING HIM AND JUST SETTING HIM ON MY LAP, he says, "But my clothes are wet," which I feel on my bare thigh at the same moment in time.  I quickly right him to his feet once again and ask why.  "I had to go a little and I had an accident."  The poor lamb.  He's been overcome by the burning on his chest and being in a state of panic while still pretty much asleep and tinkled a bit.  If only it were that easy.  Oh, no.  Not my boy, the reigning prince of understatements.  This child has completely peed.  COMPLETELY peed.  All over himself.  On my bedroom floor.  Cripes.  I tell him to start taking his clothes off while I go rustle up dry pj's and Spiderman undies and prepare to get him clean.  While in his room, a little voice, I believe it was Satan himself, giggles and says, "Check his bed, hee hee hee."  And the minions shrieked gleefully and did a little dance just as my hand, in the dark, found that my boy had gone "a little" in his bed as well.  Curses!  You would have thought the boy had drank a Big Gulp before retiring for the night.

So, somewhere around 2 something in the morning, I climbed back into my own bed.  No more burning.  No more crying.  No more peeing.  I see the cute little cartoon boy in my mind.  I hate him.  His patch probably burns, too, but since he is the son of Satan, who made these evil torture devices, it doesn't bother him.  Probably thinks it tickles a bit.  Sick little bastard.  I hope he gets pink eye in a bad way.