THE BURNING BUSH
AND
THE "VOLATILE ORGANICS" LIE

(Note, April 13, 2005: When I wrote this several years ago, I thought it was very obvious that I was drawing heavily from or imitating the plot from a certain popular movie at the time. Now that some time has passed, it may not be obvious to many, so I would like to say that I am indebted to the movie, "Conspiracy Theory," for much of what follows. Wait a minute? I think they copied me? No. Yes, er . . . gotta run, I think I hear a helicopter coming).

Whatsa Burning Bush? Seems straightforward, yes? Perhaps not. It maybe easier to explain "volatile organics." Let's start there. Just what is a 'volatile' organic? (Could it be a carrot with an anger management problem)?

If you are wise to the red herrings the authorities throw out when trying to confuse us about air quality issues, you already have a head start. A "volatile organic" is one of those 'boogey-men' that will be shoved in your face if your office or kid's school has bad air from being sealed too tightly and provided inadequate ventilation. It is one of the items they try to sell you are the problem while they hide the role of carbon dioxide.

I often wonder how many 'aroma' therapists tighten their sphincters when enviro-whackos get on their horse about "volatile organics?" Ever smell a fir tree? How about a pine? What about turpentine? These are "volatile organics" that reach your olfactory receptors. Scaring people about "volatile organics" has been way too easy. The phrase was ready made for the role. Just remove the 'olat' (whatsa 'olat?') from volatile and you have vile. "Vile organics." The brain makes the connection even when 'olat' is not removed, such is the power of suggestion. "Volatile Organics" or "Vile Organics?" Same thing, right? (If you answered "no," there is a camp you need to attend).

Now, let's try the harder part. Just what is a "Burning Bush?" No, it is not an effigy of our President, although it very well could be. Nor is it a certain governor of Florida falling asleep on the beach. It is not part of the anatomy of a nymphomaniac, and permit me to add that such sophomoric thinking got me into a lot of trouble. You see, the title of my first book was "The Burning Bush, or I Smell Hair Burning, A Guide to 1,001 Aphrodisiacs."

Yes, it was, and I mistakenly sold my first copy to Ron Brown just before the official release date. It was in my struggling-writer, taxi-driving days back east that I met Ron. He was a regular customer. I then compounded my error by selling Ron two more copies - - - for his friends, Vince and Bill. Shortly thereafter, I was visited and held captive by a group of spooky thugs I now believe to have been a special detail of some super-secret government agency. I think they intended to harm me, but I escaped their clutches somehow while in a drug induced stupor and taped to a wheelchair.

I have been in my own version of the "witness relocation program" ever since, living anonymously somewhere on the west coast afraid, until now, to mention my book, which was never released. A trusted contact from those days has told me that all copies of my book were confiscated from my publisher, classified "Top Secret," and stored at some undisclosed location which may now have been accidently revealed because of budget cuts. It seems that there is a "book repository" in Richmond, Virginia that has applied to the Rapidan Air Pollution Control Authority for a permit to burn some old books it can no longer afford to keep. This would have been routine, but The Daughters of The Confederacy got involved, believing the books were old Confederate archives, and contending that the proposed burning was some "Shermanesque" plot. The true nature of the material appears to have been disclosed when a janitor at the repository, fearing the Daughters were after him, confessed to his minister, a fundamentalist evangelical preacher, that he had been reading and utilizing some of the recipes from my book to seduce dozens of women in the congregation who now will not allow him a minute's peace.

The preacher has planned and demanded his own book burning. Local porn shop owners are agitating for access to the material. Animal rights activists have gotten involved, claiming the janitor experimented on animals first. The Daughters of The Confederacy think the hoopla and confusion is just another part of the conspiracy to destroy important historical documents and have increased their own activities and demands. Doris Kearns Goodwin has taken a room at the bed and breakfast three blocks from the repository, and Hollywood producers have been reported sniffing around.

I feel somewhat safe, in this climate, to admit my role and side with the minister. Book burning is the best course and totally appropriate. Many books, besides mine, should be burned. It would cleanse many things, including the air. (In my own defense, let me add that there was nothing about "thongs" or cigars in my book).

Burning book? Burning bush? Yes, that book, but, no, not that bush. Although it very well could have been. It could have been, but I have something else in mind.

I recently helped friends erect a new section of fence in their backyard. They live in a suburban community of a major metropolitan area but have managed to create an Eden in this backyard. I love it; birds love it. While enjoying the evening in their backyard after finishing the fence, I observed the birds feeding there which contrasted with how they feed at my place. My friends' birds seemed more refined.

More manners. More ceremony around the dinner table. How could I explain it? Their yard could be in "Garden Beautiful" magazine. Mine looks like it was recently victimized by a drunken bulldozer operator who backed into and bitched up the bark on all of the few remaining trees. Thistle and weeds thrive at my place. We both have bird feeders, probably dispensing the same brand of sunflower seeds. None of the above really convinced me that there should be a difference in bird behavior. What then? More observation.

My birds sit on the feeder and drag seeds out and eat them or drop them below. Some behave more like pigs than birds. Goldfinches are the worst. I call them Goldfinks because of their apparent greed and sloppiness. My friends' birds would take one seed at a time from the feeder and disappear into nearby foliage, eat the seed, and then return for another. Kind of like putting your fork down between bites. Or, like grabbing a bite to eat in the kitchen but retreating to the dining room to sit down and eat in style. Class v. No class?

There was one plant the birds favored for their dining room. It was about four feet tall and three feet in diameter. It had long thin branches which stayed about the same thickness their entire length. This plant was a copse, a thicket, by its singular self with a beautiful canopy of leaves to shade the interior.

You guessed it - - - Dictamnus albus, the "Burning Bush," the one I had in mind all along. Can't say that I had ever seen one or even noticed this one before. My friend had to tell me what it was. The maze of its branches made it impossible for larger predators to penetrate. Did its cover hide the smaller birds from prying eyes too? Was there something else that made the "Burning Bush" a favorite?

The "Burning Bush" can put out so much 'volatile organics' that the air around it will burst into flames if you should get close enough to it with a flame. (I think we need a program to plant millions of these wonderful plants so candle-burning lesbians, and those who dwell on pathetic candlelight vigils will have the (deleted) scared out of them when they get too close).

It's a wonder that the "Burning Bush" hasn't been outlawed or made to wear a warning tag or something. Imagine - - - then, the next time God wants to talk to Moses or someone, he will have to find another method. (I am hoping He will dip his finger in thick, gooey crude oil and write on the exterior glass of one of those sealed buildings, particularly one that houses the EPA or somesuch).

You would think that people (and birds) would shun the "Burning Bush." (Shouldn't the "volatile organics" be harming the more delicate respiratory systems of the birds? How many fragrances are there in Paradise? Why aren't the birds in the "Burning Bush" dropping dead like the canary in a coal mine full of bad air)?

On the contrary, the "Burning Bush" is much desired for its aroma. People like to inhale many "volatile organics." Can birds undergo civilizing "aroma" therapy? Do you suppose that is why women wear perfume - - - it helps civilize the beasts around them?

Dictamnus albus

I am feeling a sudden urge to visit our two local book stores and buy any copies of Tom Robbin's Jitterbug Perfume available. Must resist. Besides I already spend all my extra money searching out and acquiring copies of that 1974 tome, how to design & use MULTIVIBRATORS, by Courtney Hall (Howard W. Sams & Co., Inc.). The title for Chapter 10 may say it all. "Half-Shot Circuits." One can only wonder, "Why only half?"

And, "Why do I do that?"

For the record: I was once nearly overwhelmed by the cologne a dowager one row in front and below me was wearing at the Seattle Opera. As I write this, I am bothered by the out-gassing from the plastic nose pieces on a new pair of "cheater" glasses I bought. I recognize the general area of the problem, but, still, I am not inclined to demonize "volatile organics." We can be more specific (and I, unlike the experts, can pinpoint them when there). Some fumes are bad, but mostly because of too close proximity or lack of good ventilation. I blame the Seattle Opera for the latter. (I also blame that dowager for using too much cologne). The coffee shop where I now write is blameless. Most of the "sick building" scenarios would fall into the lack of proper ventilation category, and the attempt to blame unspecified "volatile organics" was (and remains) a lie. And, it is part of the cover-up of the damage CO₂ is doing.

Copyright © 2002, Donald L. Beeman. All rights reserved.

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