Mr. Fussy is planning an exquisitely sustainable Christmas.
It starts with the small things. Showering once a week in your clothes. Working in virtual darkness with energy-efficient light bulbs. If not for the mutability of current events, Mr. Fussy would read the same newspaper again and again, just to save trees.
Yes, the tree. Mr. Fussy has been doing his homework. It's so important to set the right tone! He thought of emulating his mother, who always drags out her 2-foot tall, plastic and foil "tree" around this time of year. But then Mr. F. saw this quote in Newsweek: "Always go real. A fake tree is petroleum based. It's not biodegradable." But it is re-useable . . . Well, never mind.
So Mr. F. has Newsweek's permission to drive down to the Catholic church - the one where they turfed out the liberal priest - to buy a lovely blue spruce, while supporting the hard-working husbandmen of Nova Scotia, right? Wrong! Full ecological purity dictates that Mr. Fussy rent a tree, preferably a "nontraditional" tree like a Southern Magnolia, from the Friends of the Urban Forest, who'll then replant it on a city street.
What a production. Mr. Fussy will probably end up at Our Lady's after all; a boy he used to coach in soccer sometimes helps carry the tree to the car. Somehow he doesn't see the Friends of the Urban Forest fumbling with bungee cords on top of his station wagon.
One of Mr. Fussy's sons likes to string Christmas decorations on the front of the house. The tree-huggers suggest LED lights, which consume 80 percent less electricity. But will they be bright enough to offend Mr. F's non-Christian neighbors? If not, what's the point?
Of course, Mr. Fussy wants to be creative. How about recycling the advent calendar? But does that mean he can't eat the little chocolate behind the manger on Dec. 24? Not worth it. The eco-people suggest sending friends online slide shows instead of Christmas cards. Marvelous! Mr. Fussy has never opened an e-mail inviting him to "check out our vacation pictures," and he never will.
Eliminating Christmas cards would likewise deep-six the carefully worded, annual family letter, in which Mrs. Fussy tells friends that her husband has had the same job for 20 years, but no one knows what it is.
Last year, John Kerry and his wife, Teresa, sent Mr. F. a Christmas card that could theoretically be returned to Georgia and recycled into carpet squares. Mr. Fussy has tried to find out how many people actually sent their cards to Georgia, and no one returned his calls. But, of course, who would want to recycle a precious machine-signed card from the distinguished authors of "This Moment on Earth: Today's New Environmentalists and Their Vision for the Future."
Mr. F. wonders if the Kerrys will recycle the remaindered copies, and transform them into "Edwards for President" lawn signs. Probably not.
Gifts; of course, Mr. F. will be going green. He was just about to order a batch of worms for the composter on his list when he spotted a heretical dispatch in his favorite trade journal, Materials Recycling Week. Worms turn out to be huge emitters of nitrous oxide, appropriately known as Nox. Mr. Fussy hasn't been this disappointed since he saw those photos of Al Gore gallivanting next to his private, climate-destroying jet.
Dash the worms; there are hundreds of other, eco-worthy gifts out there. Candies made from soy-based wax - mmmm! Cruelty-free organic vegan lip gloss. iWood sunglasses ("These sunglasses scream sustainable style") for only $350. A backpack made from recycled soda bottles for young Master Fussy, with 52 solar cells sewn in, to keep his cellphone charged. For only $225! Money grows on trees, right?
Mr. Fussy's ultimate gift to the environment is his longstanding policy of aggressive re-gifting. I wonder who will be getting the Dead Sea mineral bath salts this year? Or the chocolate soap?
Mr. Fussy remembers reading in an eco-oriented guide book that if people really cared about preserving the Galapagos Islands, they wouldn't travel there at all. In that vein, the most sustainable, eco-friendly Christmas would be . . . no Christmas at all. Mr. Fussy can dream, can't he?
Alex Beam is a Globe columnist. His e-dress is beam@globe.com.
