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  • (Plastic Bag (film)) Plastic Bag (film) is a short film by award winning director Ramin Bahrani. The film features the voice of legendary filmmaker Werner Herzog and an original score from Kjartan Sveinsson of Sigur Ros.
  • (plastic bag) a bag made of thin plastic material
  • (Plastic bag) the thing used to take home the pieces that was once your beloved model aircraft, before you failed to keep it airborne at the wrong moment, or didn't manage to pull off the best of landings, or tried to perform an aerobatic maneuver too close to the ground
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  • the selling of goods to merchants; usually in large quantities for resale to consumers
  • at a wholesale price; "I can sell it to you wholesale"
  • Sell (goods) in large quantities at low prices to be retailed by others
  • sweeping: ignoring distinctions; "sweeping generalizations"; "wholesale destruction"
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  • jersey: a close-fitting pullover shirt
  • A T-shirt (T shirt or tee) is a shirt which is pulled on over the head to cover most of a person's torso. A T-shirt is usually buttonless and collarless, with a round neck and short sleeves.
  • A short-sleeved casual top, generally made of cotton, having the shape of a T when spread out flat
  • T Shirt is a 1976 album by Loudon Wainwright III. Unlike his earlier records, this (and the subsequent 'Final Exam') saw Wainwright adopt a full blown rock band (Slowtrain) - though there are acoustic songs on T-Shirt, including a talking blues.

Saris for Kasimedu
Saris for Kasimedu
Last night, in the cool darkness that settled on Kasimedu just after sunset, I distributed saris and lungis to 100 of the neediest families in northern Chennai. This was my second visit to Kasimedu, a rundown kuppam (neighborhood or area) in between the ocean and the one room houses that wend their way through narrow lanes to the main road. These people have lost everything. The tsunami struck down their makeshift huts, shoddy to begin with, and then, after receiving aid from the government, a fire swept through the encampment charring everything, leaving nothing but dried out boat carcasses and piles of ash and bits of cloth. The stories the women and children told me on my last visit brought me to tears--not an easy feat. I had been to four or five fishing villages already, places that had lost hundreds of people to the wall of water that descended upon them. These other places had sustained quantifiably more damage, but they seemed to be coping. They were rebuilding houses, had clean water from Unicef, and food from private aid organizations. The children laughed and played in the street. The women presided over their cooking fires, happy to have something to do. However, the desperation of the women in Kasimedu was palpable. They clustered around me, each talking over the other in an effort to have her situation understood. This was a place where no one asked me for money, they only motioned, bringing hand to mouth, that they were hungry. The smell of Kasimedu stayed with me after my first visit. Walking through the black, ashy encampment, leveled by water, then dried by flames, a deep, earthy acrid smell filled the air. When the village women and children surrounded me, I was tempted to cover my mouth and nose to shield the inner membranes of my orifices from the stench—sweat mixed with dirt, dead fish, burned plastic, human waste—all of it muddled together to create a foul odor that had seeped into their hair and soiled their saris. How do they live here? The wafting smoke from a Gold Flake cigarette was welcome. I inhaled the second hand fumes heartily, just to have something to mask the smell around me. Two days before I was to leave Chennai, Narayan asked me what I wanted to do about the villagers in Kasimedu. Did I want to go see them again? Did I want to give them anything? I did, but I wanted to give them things they could use. We needed to ask them what they wanted first. Narayan went to work, and found out, through his fisher-friend Patrick, that that day two foreigners had visited the kuppam and handed out rice and kerosene. The people were so desperate for supplies that they mobbed the donors, creating mass confusion. The need for food overwhelmed the villagers and they grabbed and quarreled, knocking things out of the donors' hands, some people not receiving anything at all in the melee. I wanted to avoid this situation. Having been in the middle of groups of villagers tugging on my shirt, touching my hair, asking for money, I knew that this could be a recipe for disaster. So, on my last day in Chennai, Patrick devised an entire system to ensure that everything would run smoothly. He found out through the head of the fisherfolk that they needed clothing. Most women only had one sari, and some men did not even have one lungi. We would have local men hand out tokens to the neediest families, and later that night, they would bring a token to a meeting point, and would be given a bag with one sari and one lungi. To me, a sari has always seemed like ceremonial garb. If I were to buy one, I would only wear it to a wedding or a formal celebration. But, here a sari is everyday attire. A poor woman will wear hers during the day, and use it as a sheet at night. The same goes for a lungi (very similar to a sarong, but worn exclusively by men). Men wear lungis day and night, wrapping one around their waist to make a long skirt, and looping it up, when mobility is needed, into what I would call a mini-skirt. Late in the afternoon, Narayan, Patrick, and I went to a wholesale textile shop to buy the material. Fortunately, the shop owner gave us a great deal because he knew that the material was intended for tsunami victims. He sold the saris for Rs.60 and the lungis for Rs. 45. That's $1 for the men's piece, and $1.50 for the sari. My budget only allowed me to buy 100 of each, but Patrick said anything would help. So, we loaded the material into a rickshaw and hustled back to the meeting spot, an empty parking lot behind a rice mill. Patrick picked this out of the way location so that we wouldn't get mobbed by the general population. Overall, the system worked. It wasn't a great time to hand out the goods, because it happened to be the time when women are supposed to be tending their cooking fires. But, about 75 women and men showed up to accept the outfits. The rest will be given out this morning. Originally, when saris were suggested, I didn't like the ide
Upcycling Plastic Bags
Upcycling Plastic Bags
This is beginning progress on another project. I've been saving different hues of brightly colored plastic bags over several years to find close gradients of color.

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