The garbage cycle means a lot to me. Burnable garbage, which has to be in bags that have red runes on them, are picked up on Saturdays and Wednesdays. However the really important thing is that cans, glass bottles,plastic bottles and the like, are only picked up on the 2nd and 4th Saturdays of each month. If you get out of synch with this collection you are in big trouble. You have hampers of cans and empty bottles lying around your bedroom for weeks and when you finally put mountains of alcohol detritus out on the street, everyone takes you for a dipsomaniac. ” I have a lot of parties,” you mouth to disapproving Okinawan matrons in passage by the house.
Garbage in the secret garden. Reminds me of pre Thatcherite Britain.
This morning was a big garbage day. It was perfectly timed as there was a party last night and I drifted through the halls of revellers safe in the knowledge that all the crap would disappear first thing in the morning. Woe I went to bed too late and by the time I awoke the garbage trucks had been and gone. Was there ever a stronger admonition on the evils of drink?
Well, on the other hand, it was a great party.
Ireland, France, Germany, Palestine, somewhere East Europe, Okinawa
The party was for Amy. She is a darling.
She had the genial idea of adding dry ice to Okinawan colon cleansers. One hell of a cocktail.
Gigot – too big for the Cobb
Maybe chust a small one
J’aime les femmes
Krista with Miyagi- sensei
Happy, happy, joy, joy
And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! 10
Hark, where my blossom’d pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray’s edge—
That ‘s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture 15
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children’s dower
—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
J’aime les femmes part 2
In the bath. Can’t remember why.
Yet never did I breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific—and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
J’aime les femmes 3
Am I squeezing Hisashi’s shoulder too hard?
They ate the lamb
The first electron positron collisions took place in that steel bowl. I am not joking.
I missed the garbage.