Reduce, reusue, and...

I should start an additional blog just to track the many esoteric things my neighbor mistakenly believes to be recyclable. It would be a sort of photo montage of things I remove from the communal bin: some towels, a large wooden box, a couple of free weights....

Today's contestants, aside from the perpetual plastic wrap and piles of compostable miscellany (pizza boxes, used paper towels, milk cartons, etc.), were what appeared to be some unused diapers, a (mostly) empty toothpaste tube and--my newly elected all-time favorite--a deflated rubber cow of significant size.

Oh, neighbor, what a beautiful dream.

Tenuous

I find I have, at best, a tenuous grasp on the rudiments of being a grown-up. I would like to tell you that the apartment is spic and span, that vegetables are consumed as part of a balanced meal every evening, and that I am constantly deeply engrossed in literature. This is not the case. Indeed, the apartment looks as though it may be occupied by three or four phantom college students who can't be bothered to hang up their clothes. And last night I had Shredded Wheat for dinner. What's worse, perhaps, is that I was rather proud of myself for (finally) having gone to the grocery store. The night before, I would not have been able to have Shredded Wheat because there was simply no Shredded Wheat to be had. In the midst of the indifferent housekeeping and questionable nutrition, I watch a great deal of television.

This morning, I had vowed to go to the gym for the first time since (ahem) March. I tried to pave the way for success. I packed all the necessary items and put them near the bed last night. All that would be required of me would be to get up, put on quasi clothing, and leave the house. The rest would be dealt with post-swim. It turns out that the "get up" part is a significant obstacle. Or rather, that it is still a significant obstacle, as it has been since I was about 10 years old. Tomorrow, I will try again. Please stop laughing. I will so try.

To make up for all my shortcomings, though, today I did something almost mind-bogglingly adult. I took a deep breath and agreed to have the oral surgery my dentist has been talking about for the last five years. Not only will this involve having something that is referred to on the invoice as "Bio-material: human dermal product" sewn into my mouth, it will also cost several thousand dollars. Truly, I have never spent this much money on anything in my life with the exception of my car. When I think of the trips to Italy I could take with that money, or the fetching dresses I could purchase by the armful --really, the list of delightful things available to me that would not involve human dermal product or bleeding gums is almost endless--it makes me a little tearful. To be clear, I don't actually have these thousands of dollars, they will be squeezed from me slowly and painfully over the course of a year. Woo hoo.

But you know who makes an investment in gum health today to avoid false teeth tomorrow? A grown-up, that's who. Now I'm going to have some chocolate and maybe start watching "Breaking Bad" again from the beginning. Shut up. You're not the boss of me.

Arrivederci, Roma

Even under regular circumstances, I talk to myself far more than is normal (assuming that there is a "normal" amount of talking to oneself), but traveling alone for days on end maybe amped it up a bit?

On my way out of Rome, I had to first make my way through Trastevere, which is comprised almost entirely of cobbled streets. Clumpety-clumpety-clumpety, I wheeled my suitcase joltingly behind me and had this little conversation. Aloud.

I'm so sorry, suitcase. No American is ever really prepared for cobbled streets. [pause] Of course, you're from China, so it's possible that you don't understand a word I'm saying.

Ah, yes.

And then I went to Florence for another whole seven days, but I tried to keep the suitcase chatting to a minimum.

Arrivederci, Roma. Piacere.

Yes, but what if I too have thoughts?

First off, I know there should be commas around that "too" up there, but I feel it will just be too comma-y. Sorry, punctuation. I'll check in with you later.

I choose not to enable comments on this blog. As I have a very small (but charming and distinguished, obviously) readership, I don't think this is likely to bring the blogosphere (I continue to loathe the word "blogosphere" in case you wondered) to its virtual knees. However, very occasionally, people mention the fact, either with curiosity or displeasure. A student once inquired as part of a class project she was doing about my blog. Let's just think about that for a minute, shall we? A student once did a class project about my blog. This remains one of the most astonishing and flattering things that has ever happened to me. If you're still out there, Sarah, hi. I addressed the issue in an email to her, but today Lisa Congdon has addressed the same issue right out in public. My reasons vary a bit from hers, but, in general, it's nice to know I'm not alone.

If you ever find yourself brimming with unexpressed thoughts about something I write, you can always email me. I know it's old fashioned, but then, so am I.

Lifesaving kindness

I just came across this on Mighty Girl and wanted to share it with you.

You know I have mixed feelings about the ubiquity of "comments" on the internet, but in this case, well. It's another opportunity to do something great with almost no effort. When you comment on her post, it will equal $20 to vaccinate a child in a developing country against measles, pneumonia, diarrhea, and polio. I'm all for that.

The comment prompt is: what is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you? I hope that you have as much trouble narrowing this down as I did.

Here'e what I settled on:

People who love me have collectively done an incalculable number of nice things for me, but when I think of the nicest, I find I think of things done by people who didn’t know me at all.

Once, many years ago, during the morning rush hour, I fell in the Powell Street subway station–a bad fall; I thought I may have actually broken my back. A young man whose face I never saw (I was facing the wall and afraid to move) knelt down next to me and held my hand until the paramedics came. He didn’t abandon me to the ineffectual MUNI personnel who were first on the scene. I know staying with me made him very late to work. He is my hero.

Hasten over there; reflect on kindness; protect a child. Not bad for a Tuesday.