The Com-POST

See what I did in the post title?  See it?  A famous blogger am I.

Compost: A seven letter word I associate with my housemates from college, who decided they'd store their banana peels in open, cardboard boxes indoors for weeks at a time, making the house so wreak so badly that I retched each time I walked through the door.  True story.

Obviously, this isn't actually what composting is like.  In reality, it's a wonderful thing that doesn't need to be associated with weirdos or hippies or people living in vegan communes.  So, now that I'm moving into my own place, I figured there was no better time to start doing it the right way--and no better place than the Slope, where all of my favorite flaming liberals reside.

Turns out it's not so friggin' easy to compost here.  Well, not the throwing-the-carrots-into-the-fancy-bamboo-vessel part, but once that thing's full, where do I throw that shit?  Here's where I turn to you, you Coop-belonging, tree-hugging FIPS readers: Where's a gal to throw her compost (without having to pay a nine billion dollar membership fee to save the earth)?