A journey

Posted: June 5, 2010 in dry goods

If the shoe insert fits, wear it.  If it doesn’t, throw it out the window.

Just make sure it’s far away from the other shoe insert that didn’t fit and was thrown out the window.  You don’t want them getting ideas.


A history lesson.

Posted: June 4, 2010 in dry goods

In the middle ages, guards would throw livestock over the castle walls as a method of defense.

I suppose that one could call garbage the livestock of modern day Brooklyn.

If this were the middle ages, my neighbors above would be excellent defenders of their fortress.

A beginning.

Posted: June 4, 2010 in Foodstuffs

It all began one Saturday morning between the hours of 9 am and 10 am.  Outside my window (which I did not look out of between the hours of 9 am and 10 am on that Saturday,) is a terrace.  A terrace is an enviable thing in the claustrophobic confines on New York City, and my roommate and I are glad to have it.  We share the terrace with a disproportionate number of feral cats, as they are fed by our building manager.  We don’t mind so much unless one is in heat, because then they are loud.  They all have names.  But you’ll hear about them later.

There is a third unwelcome citizen residing on our terrace.  This unwelcome citizen resides in the form of the stuff that he/she/they throw out their window, many floors above.  It would never occur to me to use my window as a trash bin, but for one or more of the people who live above me, it is as natural a thing to do as breathing.

Hello, girls.  Welcome to Brooklyn.

On that fateful Saturday, I looked out my window at 9 am, and for a second time at 10.  The cement that was naked when I awoke at 9 was, at 10, dressed with a takeout box, bejeweled by a necklace of fried rice, and crowned with a fork.  Not a plastic fork, mind you.  A real fork*.

I’d had it.  Honestly, who did these people think they were, and where were their parents?  My blood pressure rose to an unhealthy level.  And then I began to laugh.  I always say that one should go through life with a sense of humor, and this was one such opportunity.  Thus began my pictorial chronology.

There is stuff on my terrace.  This is its story.

*n.b. I usually wash my dishes