Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/23

There was about a quarter inch of wet snow on my car this morning. Fortunately, none stuck to the streets. With the forecast for all-day precipitation, I figured it was a good time to have my tires changed and wheels realigned. I'd waited long enough, getting 19,000 miles out of the originals. The writing was on the wall yesterday when my front passenger tire was almost entirely deflated. Hopefully, there will be no unexpected car maintenance hits in the near future. I dread seeing the Check Engine light pop on.
To fill the hours, I did my Thursday morning chores this afternoon. As I was walking to the recycling center at Stop n Shop, there were a host of Asians waiting at the corner of East 15th, bags full of plastic, metal and glass bottles, some taller than the women themselves, placed at the curb before a large truck. I recognized most. It seems they have found a better method to get their due. The recycling room is small, noisy and the machines, battered from constant use, are frequently either down, unreliable or full. I was thrilled to find it vacant, but I had to empty the bin of the only working plastics machine. We're supposed to leave that up to Eddie, but he's usually tied up with other duties, so I thought I'd risk the wrath of management. I finished quickly, to the delight of the Russian woman swearing at one of the other machines, which often spits out perfectly legit goods. I immediately went into the store and used the voucher on stuff I would have purchased tomorrow.
RIP Elizabeth Taylor, whose ups and downs fascinated us all for so long. Those incredible eyes melted most male hearts. She won an Oscar for her portrayal of a high-priced hooker in Butterfield 8, which was not her best role. I will always remember her as Maggie the Cat in the film version of Tennessee Williams' Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and, of course, as the acerbic Martha in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Her good work will be remembered, her poor work, even in the infamous Cleopatra debacle, will be forgotten. Of course, her private life was equally memorable: the death of her husband Mike Todd in a plane crash; her "stealing" of Debbie Reynolds', America's Sweetheart, husband Eddie Fisher; and her tumultuous marriages to Richard Burton. She was Hollywood through and through.
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