The Tupperware Cemetery There is a place in every Southern kitchen where good intentions go to die. It's called the Tupperware cabinet. Open that door too quickly and you'll find yourself in a plastic avalanche that could qualify as a natural disaster. I don't know who first decided that every leftover green bean deserved its own container, but somewhere along the way we all became curators of colorful plastic archaeology. I have lids. Lots of lids. They just don't belong to anything. But I still have them…you know, just in case a get a naked bowl that needs a top. Speaking of those containers, they apparently have entered the witness protection program because their matching lids disappeared sometime during the Bush administration. (the old one) Every few months I become convinced that this is the day I'm finally going to organize them. I stack. I sort. I match. Then I discover eighteen identical round containers with nineteen square lids...