September 26:
Had our freegan meeting today. Erin brought us some of those kick-ass tarts that the bakery near her midtown place throws out at night. We discussed some ways to get the word out about freeganism in the city. Someone suggested plastering leaflets everywhere. But we almost came to blows over how to make copies without buying any paper. Ron suggested it was a necessary sacrifice. Winnie, our resident hard-liner, said it was disgustingly hypocritical. (She’s breaking out in hives again. I think she’s proud of them, taking them as proof positive she avoids the grocery store in favour of back-alley Dumpsters with their attendant sanitary imperfections and angry wasps. Her brother calls her Winnie the Poo on account of the way she smells sometimes). Eventually the conflict was settled with sticky hugs.
October 31:
It’s Halloween, a holiday us freegans have an ambivalent relationship with. On the one hand, you have children going out and being enthusiastic about getting food for free, which I’m all for. And yet the day ultimately couldn’t be any more at odds with our philosophy, with its demand that costumes be bought and consequently little minds developing positive associations with purchasing things. I went around the neighbourhood at night trying to persuade the parents walking their kids to replace their costumes with these nifty “ghost-tumes” I had made (an easy creation of emptied green garbage bags I had gathered around town earlier and into which I had cut holes). I got punched by one wincing dad and went home. But one woman took a bag (perhaps out of pity). No matter, it’s a small victory!
November 28:
I’ve managed to get my friend Charles from school interested in freeganism. He’s really taking to it; the whole thing about new converts being zealous is true. Something odd happened to us today. We were wading through the discarded spaghetti out back of Pasquale’s when what appeared to be a rival gang of freegans approached us. I gestured the universal hand signal designed for camaraderie and quelling the easily excitable freegan refuse-fuelled constitution. It turns out the group weren’t freegans but rather carousing frat boys on horse tranquillizer who had been attracted to what Charles and I were doing through some drug-induced desire to assume what appeared to them to be an amoebic pre-evolutionary state. Charles and I left them lolling in the carbonara.
December 24:
Had an argument with my mom. I noticed under our Christmas tree a present with my name on it, despite telling my parents explicitly I didn’t want anything bought for me. She countered that I had gifts for them under the tree. I reminded her that what I had under there I made from things I’d collected from here and there. My dad got angry when he saw I had used the business sections he’d been missing from his newspapers as wrapping paper. On closer inspection my dad noticed that our dog, accustomed to peeing on newspaper, had soiled the gifts.
January 1:
I love the New Year. Apart from the preserving properties of January weather on discarded food, it’s also a time of renewed commitments and re-ignited passions. The group had a freegan New Year’s party. That girl I like was there. I, somewhat shyly, went up to her and asked who her favourite freegan philosopher was. She said that was a bourgeois question. I didn’t know what that meant, but not wanting to show it, I said, “I know, right?” We stood in silence for a moment, then she asked me, “Who is that cute guy across the room?” Stung, I replied, “Oh, he’s just some fair-weather freegan. Only eats garbage, like, half the time.”
February 6:
Disappointed with myself today as I may have done something terrible. In a moment of weakness I bought a burger from the greasy spoon near school, the one with the fifties theme and the employees wearing those funny hats. I was walking past there, kind of dejected for no reason in particular, and saw a family eating this really great-looking food. Sweating, I walked past the restaurant — but then came skulking back and bought a burger. I ordered hesitantly. Felt like I was buying porn or something. I kept looking around, not wanting to see anyone else from the freegan group. I took my burger to the corner booth with its red leather and watched for a moment the people around me drinking their malted shakes (which was strange, because it’s February). But then something horrible happened. I saw Winnie from the group walking past outside. Terrified, I threw my burger into a nearby garbage bin and ducked. She walked past, oblivious to my presence. Relieved, I turned towards the burger in the trash. “That’s got to be some kind of loophole,” I thought as I reached for it.
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