It's 2 a.m. Do You Know Where Your Contribution to Global Mercury Poisoning Is?

It's like ... ten thousand sick Nigerians when all you need is a clear desktop.

The day after we dropped off a non-functioning printer and a bag of old cell phones and chargers at the recycling center, we found this from the AP:

America Ships Electronic Waste Overseas

An excerpt:

SAN FRANCISCO (AP) — Most Americans think they're helping the earth when they recycle their old computers, televisions and cell phones. But chances are they're contributing to a global trade in electronic trash that endangers workers and pollutes the environment overseas.

While there are no precise figures, activists estimate that 50 to 80 percent of the 300,000 to 400,000 tons of electronics collected for recycling in the U.S. each year ends up overseas. Workers in countries such as China, India and Nigeria then use hammers, gas burners and their bare hands to extract metals, glass and other recyclables, exposing themselves and the environment to a cocktail of toxic chemicals.

"It is being recycled, but it's being recycled in the most horrific way you can imagine," said Jim Puckett of the Basel Action Network, the Seattle-based environmental group that tipped off Hong Kong authorities. "We're preserving our own environment, but contaminating the rest of the world."

Beautiful. You think you're saving the planet, but really you're just killing Chinese babies. Uhm ... It was emotionally wrenching enough to get rid of my old Power Mac G3 in the first place (not to mention my dear departed iPod). I was hoping not to add unwilling complicity to murder into the bargain.

You just can't win ... so it would seem.

Lucky for us, we live in the civilized borough of Queens, and we dropped off our junk at Build it Green NYC's collection site in Astoria. In association with the Lower East Side Ecology Center, Build It Green provides a drop-off center for disposing of electronic equipment — the right way.

From their Web site:

Is any of the recycled material sent overseas?
No. We share your concern about dumping electronic waste on developing countries. Therefore we require that our vendors recycle all collected materials in the US and provide us with documentation about their down stream vendors. We audit this information to confirm validity.

Yay! We win.

For more information:

• Build it Green NYC


• Lower East Side Ecology Center


• Basel Action Network


• Computer Take Back Campaign


• International Association of Electronics Recyclers

R.i.Pod

	A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. [theistore.com]

Last week, walking to work one morning, in the first 30 seconds of "Big Wheel" by Tori Amos, my iPod suddenly shut off. When I turned it on, it had registered half battery life, so I tried firing it up again. But it wouldn't start up. It just cycled through the reboot and never got through to the menu screen. The battery had been acting up for well over a year, so I assumed it would shut off on its own, as usual, and I would just charge it up again at work.

When I pulled it out later to charge it, it was still running. It was still rebooting. Over and over and over. And it was hot to the touch. I held the Menu and the Play/Pause buttons to reset it, but it never got past its opening screen. Click, whirrrrrr, bzzzzz... pause. Click, whirrrrrr, bzzzzz... pause. Click, whirrrrrr, bzzzzz... pause.

I began to panic and went to the Apple Web site, but I couldn't do anything about it with my work PC. I needed my Mac at home. Eventually it puttered out and stopped spinning. Safe ... for now.

That night I couldn't even get it to mount to the desktop; nor could I get iTunes to recognize it — so I could do absolutely nothing to reset or restore. No amount of troubleshooting would help.

After five years, my iPod's number is up. His little ticker has finally gone out. Long will I remember the countless hours of Madonna, Tori Amos, Cyndi Lauper, Indigo Girls, Gorillaz, '80s playlists, the Wicked soundtrack. I will be forever grateful for years of encouragement on the Bally's treadmill with Ultimate Kylie and Confessions on a Dancefloor. Those days are over.

My iPod was Generation 3, the last model before the display went color. Before the click wheel. Before the 30GB model. Before video.

He filled my heart with joy, but at 20 GB — five times the size of my first Mac G3 desktop machine, mind you &8212; he had not yet been filled with music.

Now he has gone to Abraham's bosom. He's bitten the big one, the biscuit, the dust. He's kicked the bucket. He's bought the farm, cashed in (or cached, for the geeks) his chips, checked out, climbed the golden staircase. He's cooking for the Kennedys. He is passing over Jordan. He is gathered to his fathers. He has met his maker. He has joined the ancestors. He's croaked. He's snuffed it. He's toast. He's dead meat. He's given an obolus to Charon, crossed the river on the Stygian ferry — to the undiscovered country, fallen into the dreamless sleep. He is at journey's end. He is sailing on the grey ships. He's done like dinner. He's flat-lined. It's curtains for my poor iPod. It's Taps. He is information superhighway roadkill. He's feeding the fishes. He's worm food. He's going home feet first, toes up. Therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for my iPod. He's shuffled off his mortal coil. He's shit the bed. He's gone to his just reward, his last home, his rest, his last account, the last roundup, the sweet hereafter, the happy hunting ground. He is sowing the Elysian Fields. He's met the grim ferryman, the grim reaper, the great leveller. He's hung up his tack. He's picking up his harp. He has left the building. He has been launched into eternity. He's on the road to nowhere. He's paid the piper. Pegged out. Pulled the plug. He's given up the ghost. He's pushing up daisies, singing with the angels, sleeping with the fishes. He's six feet under.

I'm gonna miss you, little guy.

(Special thanks to Dead & Buried.)