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A special place in hell…

Today’s fact:

It is estimated that anywhere from 25 to 40 percent of the national solid waste stream is building-related waste and only 20 percent of construction waste or demolition debris (C&D) is actually recycled. (American Institute of Architects)


So now come U.S. House Republicans with more anti-global warming lunacy. The temptation is to call them idiots, but you already know that. Lunacy in denial of a growing mountain of scientific finding is much more apt. I’m straying from my home turf of litter today in large part because pollution in its many forms is still pollution.

Pollution is pollution is pollution. We either rein it in or eventually fall prey to it. And to think I once voted for some Republicans. Never again.

Pollution is pollution is pollution. We either rein it in or eventually fall victim to our excesses. And to think I once voted for some Republicans. Never again. But they will get their comeuppance in due time.

The Republican dominated House passed a bill (the Regulations from the Executive in Need of Scrutiny (REINS) Act by a vote of 232-183, mostly along party lines) that in essence declares carbon pollution isn’t a problem. In part, the GOP objects to any suggestion to implement a tax on industry carbon emissions. The demagogues insist there are too many regulations that are inherently unfriendly to business (i.e. Koch brothers, coal/oil based utilities).

The war on our world warmed up when a committee in the House cast a vote to prevent the Environmental Protection Agency from limiting greenhouse gas emissions. It also axed 34 percent from the EPA budget.

Nice going.

I’ll preface my prediction by confessing that the sins of my past-present-future will likely have me meet them there, but there is a special place in hell for these zealots. They turn a completely blind eye to the gift we’ve been given and their zest will contribute to its demise. If it’s warmth they like, they’re about to meet it big time and not on their terms.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

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